


The Shireling

by Istuineth



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Everybody Lives, F/M, Legolas Greenleaf & Tauriel Friendship, Nobody Dies, Not sure about the ending yet, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2020-10-27 17:31:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Istuineth/pseuds/Istuineth
Summary: “Even the smallest person can change the course of the future” - Lady Galadriel, The Fellowship of the RingBella Baggins would not let them die. Even if they scorned her and turned their backs to her. Even if HE turned his back on her. She would live with her grief and guilt and everything else. So long as they lived.So long as he lived.





	1. The Difference A Hobbit Makes

We could say it all began in a hole in the ground, but for this story, that’s not necessarily true anymore. No, this story did not begin in the hobbit hole in the far distant Shire. Rather this story began in a meadow outside of the skinchanger Beorn’s humble abode. This story began amidst the fading honeysuckle and peony in the shade of the towering oaks. Surrounded by a myriad of fragrant fauna and encased in the protection of the trees they lay beneath. It was here that Thorin Oakenshield son of Thrain son of Thror King Under the Mountain, took Bella ‘Belladonna’ Baggins as his, with the promise of more braided carefully into her blonde ringlets. It was beneath the open sky (much to his displeasure) that he gave her his promise for the future with his mithril bead, marked with the seven stars of Durin and proclaiming to all dwarrow of his intentions.

It was there that he lay with her, and she in return crafted him a wreath of flowers to crown him as hers. Beautifully twined and twisted so no stem showed through the petals and leaves, crowning him with amaryllis, bird of paradise, chrysanthemum, gardenia, and sprigs of honeysuckle.

She crowned him first before all others. 

They returned to raucous applause and cheers from their companions, quiet rumbling laughter from their host, and Gandalf’s own crinkling smile as he puffed around his pipe. Their remaining few days with Beorn proved to provide them all the joy and rest they sorely missed. None so much as Thorin and Bella, who enjoyed it as though their wedded bliss had come early, earlier than the wedded bit at least.

Through Mirkwood and Laketown and to the hidden door of Erebor, their days grew darker but still they clung to their hopeful promises. Until the dragon. While Laketown had burned and the screams had rent the air, the true desolation of Smaug for Bella was above the gates of Erebor. Her desolation was miserably small in comparison to the loss of life and shelter the people of Laketown faced. It was inconsequential compared to the looming threat of orcs. As small and inconsequential as one hobbit turned out to be in the overwhelming force of Thorin’s dragon sickness. 

Hardened steel. His gaze was more akin to hardened steel with the hatred that burned her with a physical pain. Her breath caught in her throat as she trembled before him. Frantically her eyes turned to her companions, _ her _ dwarrow, but none could meet her eyes, and those that did were showing their own signs of dragon sickness looking at her with contempt. A whimper caught in her throat as she turned her gaze beseeching lay back to her king, _ her _king. 

“Thorin you have to understand-”

Later she would swear she could feel the snap.

“I HAVE TO DO NOTHING!” Steel eyes blazing Thorin strode forward, ever the king in his rich Durin blue. His lavish gold and silver armor glinted in the Autumn sun, his boots pounding unrepentantly against the stone, each step matching the beat of her heart. “You who have betrayed me! I owe you nothing!” 

The grip around her throat would never be as painful as the hatred in his eyes. Her hands came up in reflex, not from any real attempt to save herself. 

She was already struggling to breathe, his hand made little difference save to make the cause physical.

“Th-Thorin-” He tightened his grip and she gave up all efforts to speak, to beg, to plead for him to realize what he was doing.

“You are nothing to me. You are just an insignificant hobbit _ cur _ ! You get your life, for the life debt I owed to you, and for what you once meant, you can live out the rest of your pitiful days as the _ rat _ you are! But I will be damned if I let you leave with your honor, betrayer!” So saying he took the knife from his belt as he dropped her unceremoniously to his feet. Bella choked on the sudden rush of air, the edges of her vision blurry. She sucked in a sharp breath when his hands fisted into her hair before there was a sudden wrenching pain, then he released her. It took her several seconds to gather her wits before she realized what had happened. It was the soft tinkling sound that finally made her realize.

Their engagement bead lay on the ground before her. Still clasping the braid together. But he hadn’t been delicate. Several locks of her hair surrounded the braid. He had sheared all the hair he had grabbed from her head in one fell swoop, uncaring to taking more than the braid.

‘_Perhaps that was wrong though,’ _ she thought distantly, _ ‘Perhaps he meant to sheer me.’ _

There was a choked sob from behind Thorin, raising her eyes she met the haunted gaze of his youngest nephew. Kili was barely being held back by his brothers grip. His fists were clenched around his bow, as if he had reached for it at some point but found his quiver missing. His knuckles were white around the wood and only the quivering string gave away the tremble in his hands. Around him the other dwarrow looked as though they had just had their hearts ripped out. Those that had looked on in hatred only seconds before, looked as though the fog was being lifted and they were finding themselves filled with burgeoning horror.

“Leave. Leave and never return _ Shire rat _ . You have no place here. Return, and I will not spare you life a second time.” Thorin gave her one last venomous look before turning on his heel and descending once more into his hoard. His parting words for her, no, _ the _ company. “Lower the rat down in a bucket. If any follow it, they share its fate.”

And so it was in stifled silence Dwalin and Dori stuffed her into a bucket and began to lower her down to the awaiting army. Dwalin, ever implacable Dwalin, could not meet her eye. And Dori, the tea loving dwarrow could not speak through his tears. Bella felt her heart cracking further into pieces.

_ ‘Not yet Bella. You must not fall apart yet. You cannot lose yourself yet.’ _

Through her own tears she managed a weak smile, though it came out more of a grimace.

“I did my best. I wanted you all safe.” Her voice was hoarse, sounding more like the croaks of the ravens than her usual dulcet tones.

Surprisingly it was Dwalin who murmured quietly back, meeting her eyes for the first time. There his pain was displayed. “Aye lass, we know. But he’s our king. Go back to the Shire as quick as ya can, and don’t look back. Be safe lass,” His frustration leaked through his words. Here was an enemy he could not protect his king, his friend from. This sickness could not be fought with axes nor knives. Now here trying to protect his king was this tiny hobbit lass. The woman who foolishly thought Thorin would see sense in his current state. 

Bella swallowed thickly but nodded. 

_ Not yet. _

She met the ground after what felt like hours, or maybe it was seconds. Her mind was clouded as she tried to process what had just happened. In fact the next few hours (days?) passed in a blur for our hobbit. Until the battle with the orcs. 

Instead she found herself thinking more clearly than ever. She wove between legs of elves and men alike, Sting found its mark in many an Orcish knee, groin, and hamstring. Blood, black and red, covered her face. After about the fifth time she no longer vomited each time it got into her mouth. By the twentieth she no longer gagged. She poured he rage and heartache into each swing. She cursed Smaug with each warg throat she slit, and she raged against Thorin’s idiocy and stubbornness with every body she tripped over. 

The loud droning war horn of the orcs pulled her attention briefly from the now dead warg she pulled Sting from. Upon the ridge she could barely make out the figure of the pale orc, but she could make out the four dwarrow racing towards Ravenhill, cutting a path through the orcs like Aunt Mirabella’s best knife through warm apple butter.

_ No. _

_ Fool! _

Heart in her throat, Bella turned towards Ravenhill and went to save her dwarrow.

_ Not yours. _

‘_Shut up!’ _ She scolded the little niggling voice in the back of her mind. Her face twisted into a fierce scowl. ‘ _ They are mine even if I am no longer theirs.’ _With that, Bella went to turn the tide of Fate.

And on this day, Fate decided to let her.

On her way there she passed Tauriel and Legolas, fighting back to back clearing a circle around them, building a wall of orc bodies away from the rest of the battle it seemed. Bella tore her ring off as she crested the hill of bodies, stabbing Sting into them for balance (and good measure thank you very much) calling out for them.

“Tauriel! Kili! Ravenhill! It’s a trap!” Despite her voice still being slightly hoarse, elvish heading did not fail, nor did their reaction time. Barely missing a bear, Tauriel launched herself over the hill of bodies, racing towards Ravenhill. Legolas gave only a short, quick sigh of exasperation before tearing off after her. 

Bella let out a huff in exasperation and turned from cursing Gandalf and his need to meddle to Big Folk and their long legs. Specifically elven Big Folk and their cursed elvish speed. Though, if it got them to her boys faster, she could let them have it just for now. 

She switched back to cursing Thorin when an orc took a swipe at her head, only barely managing to dodge the blade and strike the beasts groin, scrambling to put her ring on. She didn’t bother to finish the orc off before she turned once again to Ravenhill and continued her campaign.

She came upon the group just as Azog was about to overpower Thorin. With a scream of rage Bella hurled herself at Azog. With Sting raised into the air, she descended upon Azog from behind and drove her blade through the heart of the Defiler, before he could kill hers. 

As he fell to the ice covered river, Azog used the last of his strength to impart his final piece of hatred and spite upon the world. His mace slammed into the ice before the halfling , shattering the last of the circle and plunging the hobbit into the icy water below, his lips twisting into his last baleful grimace. 

Bella met Thorin’s eyes briefly before the water took her, Sting slipping from her grasp as she plunged into the icy depths. Her fists banged against the ice above her, panic beginning to overtake her as she struggled violently to break free. The current began to pick up as she neared the edge of the waterfall and despite her best efforts, her vision began to blacken as her lungs burned. Unable to stop herself she opened her mouth, swallowing a lungful of water. Green eyes widened in horror even as the rush of frigid water froze her body. 

_ So this is how it ends… _

Her eyes slipped closed as her struggles grew weaker. The last thing she saw was a large looming shadow above her as she began to go over the edge of the waterfall.

_ At least Thorin is safe. _

And then she knew no more.


	2. Waking Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Enjoy!

The enveloping blackness was comforting; for she did not dream, nor did she remember. Although, perhaps she did, but was just more successful in ignoring what had happened. Either way, she was reluctant to come back to her senses. 

When it awareness began to overpower the darkness, the world came back to Bella sluggishly. At first it was bits and pieces of hushed voices and murmuring; deep rumbles and lyrical chanting. Then came the light, not with images or even any shade of color but of a bright shimmering light breaking through the pitch dark, akin to the streaks of sunlight breaking through the clouds. 

From coal black to storm grey and back again, everything was shifting. Sudden instantaneous bursts of piercing, blinding white light would try to bust through the peaceful nonexistent existence, only to fade back into the crushing, yet comforting, darkness of her unconscious mind. Over and over this cycle repeated, the light growing stronger each time as she fought to regain herself.

Then as her sight and the ambient sounds began to merge and resound with increasing clarity, she crawled from the darkness of her own mind and at last she knew herself again. 

She blinked muzily, and stared in confusion at the wooden beams above. Not the support beams you’d find in the roof of a house like Beorn’s, or even those in her own home in Bag End. Rather these beams looked so alive and yet clearly carved. Wooden branches twining so intricately above her head that she felt it was more than just her swimming vision that made them appear to all be one massive carving, yet still appearing as separate branches. She could not tell where one branch ended and another began as they formed a woven canopy over her head, so like the forest canopy in Mirkwood.

For some reason that simple yet unassuming thought prodded at her whirling mind rather incessantly.

Thoughts intertwined themselves as she puzzled out the vast intricacies of the master craftsmanship above her. With questions swarming around, some rather persistent thoughts niggled about in the back of her mind insisting that she finally take in where she lay. So with great effort she turned her focus to the room.

The awareness of her surroundings came in slow at first, then everything started rushing in almost simultaneously. Her muscles moved ever so slightly, her nerves were highly sensitive picking up the tiniest pressure or shift in temperature. Beneath her was neither a large rock nor was she laying in the mud of a river-bed, like the vast amount of wood above her might lead you to think. She was surrounded by an unbelievable softness. Not even the luxuriant beds in Rivendell could compare. Not that she would have, but surely her share of Erebor could have afforded this perfection that was her bed. With willow branch motifs crowning her bed. She saw soft sheer curtains draped down forming a gentle and comforting canopy over her bed. 

_ ‘Bed... an actual bed…’ _

Her body tensed up as that notion solidified in her head. 

A bed. She was in a bed. 

_ ‘Sweet Yavanna where am I!?” _

Her heart began to pound in her chest, sweat beading on her forehead as panic began to set in. With adrenaline coursing through her body faster and faster with each pounding beat of her heart; the instincts she had begrudgingly honed through battle and experience kicked in. Those same instincts forced a tendril of calm to pierce her heart. She had been through worse, she would get through this.

Her hand reaching to her side, hit nothing but the cloth covered skin of her hip. Surprise and shock abruptly overcame her, stalling her mind and halting the adrenaline fueled calm.

Sting was gone… Her palms began to clam up rapidly, the battle calm fading away to raw unbridled panic. Never had she let that 'glorified letter opener' out of her sight, much less her side, especially as it had come to save her in so many ways on several occasions... The spiders of Mirkwood, the battle against the orcs.

Slaying Azog. 

That thought gave her pause as she remembered _ why _ she had slain the Pale Orc. Thoughts of Kíli, Fili, and Thorin rushed at her, causing her hand to twitch once more for her sword. Sting was more than just a weapon, more than just her ‘letter opener’ Sting was… Sting was... 

Sting was one of the few things she had left of him. Even if he didn’t care what fate befell her she still lov—

_ 'Nope. No. One pail of worms at a time...' _

Bella closed her eyes, forcing herself to take slow deep breaths. Panic would do her no good. She’d learned that well enough in both Mirkwood and Erebor with the spiders and the dragon.

With one last steadying breath she opened her eyes and turned her mind to taking in her surroundings with a more critical eye, shoving away the fog that lingered by sheer will.

Painfully, Bella forced herself to sit up. Behind her, she found plenty of pillows to prop herself up on, and was finally able to take in her surroundings as a whole. 

The room she found herself in was rather large. Large in the ‘this room is for Big Folk’ large that any proper hobbit would find themselves reluctant to inhabit. She was practically swimming in the rich silk blankets, cool against her clammy skin. Her bedding and the surrounding canopy were a soft robin egg blue, the branches above off-setting them beautifully with brilliant white birch wood. 

Through the nearly sheer curtains, she could make out the flickering light of a crackling fireplace off to her right. Two plush and enviously comfortable looking armchairs sat facing towards each other, a warm glow cast upon them from the fireplace. Perfectly centered between the two chairs was a low birch wood table, and upon that table sat an elegant crystalline pitcher of water and two matching crystal goblets. The faceted edges of the glasses refracted the fire, sending light dancing onto the edges of the chairs and the nearby walls. She could see a writing desk littered with papers off to the left, situated between the cozy fireplace and a wash basin, the familiar smell of drying ink drifted over, as if someone had just left moments before she’d awakened. Her thoughts were fixated on the armchair and writing desk, unbidden the ghost of memories began to invade her mind. Bella’s thoughts, traitorous things that they were, wandered back to her home in Bag End.

Her heart ached for her armchair in front of her own fire. For the much beloved study she and her mother had spent hours upon hours in, showing her on the maps all the wonderful places her adventures had taken her. To the plush armchair situated in front of her own fireplace. Where her father used to sit, puffing away on his pipe in the evenings while she sat at his feet, enraptured by the stories he would tell of her mother’s adventures. Her mother would be puttering around in the kitchen, throwing jibes at her father for embellishing here and correcting his description of people there. The soft twinkle in his eyes as he would respond with his own jibes to his wife’s wandering ways causing all the mess in the first place. 

Grief, long weathered and all too familiar, stole her breath with renewed vigor. Oh how she longed to return to the last memories of her parents. Though barely over thirty years had passed since the Fell Winter ravaged the peaceful Shire, Bella and many others still remembered with aching clarity the swiftness and viciousness of death. Her mother and father had been among those lucky enough to die of starvation, rather than suffer the tender mercies of the white wolves. That winter had left Bella underage, orphaned, and wealthy. 

In the following months, Bella had often curled up into that armchair, clutching an old shirt of her fathers and desperately trying to recall his fading scent in the one place it had always clung heaviest.

The ensuring war over who declared Bella as their ward had been waged viciously between her Uncle Longo Baggins, and her Aunts Donnamira and Aunt Mirabella neé Took.

But those thoughts belonged to another day. A day far, far into the future. 

Perhaps a day with copious amounts of wine. Or ale.

Shaking her head, she shoved those agonizing thoughts deep into the recesses of her mind, trying once more to catalogue the room she found herself in.

Equally as elegant as the rest of the furniture in her room, a bone white wardrobe lay to her left, with a heavy oaken door towered beside the wardrobe. The first dark oak wood in the room was carved with motifs of ancient warriors fighting dark creatures of old, ancient cities being raised up, and noble ellyn walking through long forgotten woods. 

Just as she had convinced herself to try and move out of her bed, the cumbersome oak door to her chamber opened with nary a sound, as an elf stepped through, as though summoned by her very thoughts.

Which considering what she had heard whispered about some elves, perhaps that wasn’t so far from the truth as one might first suspect.

But the elf that stepped through the door was one she had never expected.

Blonde hair and glaciar eyes looked upon her in his own unique combination of amusement and cool dispassion. A crown of holly and branches rested upon his silver blonde tresses, the only adornment he wore. Staring at the branches poking up from the sides Bella was suddenly reminded of his elk mount. Her cheeks flushed as laughter threatened to burst forth. One chuckle managed to escape before she turned it into a forced cough.

Thranduil looked upon the halfling and studied her complexion, mildly amused with her doe eyes staring up at him in shock. The flush to her cheeks was somewhat worrisome, he made a mental note to check if her fever had returned. But the barely concealed mirth in her eyes led him to think the flush was more to do with her addled mind than a return to sickness.

“I see you are awake, Halfing. Though perhaps you have not yet fully recovered your wits.” His words rolled off the tongue in the same way the icy mountain brooks tumble over the river rocks, smooth and cool yet chipping away at you piece by piece. 

Bella sucked in a breath, her eyes narrowing as she tried to ignore the burning pain in her ribs with the sudden motion.Amusement was dashed away like a fleeting summer breeze as her temper rose, as white as heated iron and she stared at him in silence. Every second she had endured as a child in proper hobbit etiquette by her Baggins father yielded to the voracious temper of her Tookish mother.

From the very beginning of her journey outside her door, she’d been demeaned, patronized, and looked down upon (quite literally too mind you). She had held her tongue in check past the point where even her strictest relatives would have snapped. She had acquiesced to that leering brute of a Master, she had kept silent against her dwarven companions, and she had even bartered most fairly with the elf in front of her. Over and over she had been a proper Baggins through and through in her dealings with Big Folk. Her actions may have been a Tooks, but her words had always rung with the characteristic Baggins politeness. 

Now her Tookish temper shattered the chains holding it down, even as a minute voice in her head endeavored to soften her words from outright vulgarity.

“Lord Thranduil, I am aware that things have been tense as of late; however, I would think that an Elven King, _ the _Elven King in fact, who boasts of being several thousands of years old, would be able to use the most basic of manners with an injured guest in his halls! My young cousin Primula is a spitfire at 21, but I daresay she has more manners than you!”

Thranduil stared at the little halfling and raised a single brow, not betraying his growing ire.

“You assume you are a guest in my halls?” His voice had hardened to biting steel.

A tiny voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to back off.

She shoved it down ruthlessly.

“Unless elven eyes are indeed affected like Men and Hobbits in their old age, seeing as how I’m laying in a bed, and not some dank cell, which I know you have by the way, then yes. Yes I do.” Her eyes had crystallized into emeralds, cutting and bright. 

Thranduil looked into her eyes and saw her heart for what it was, weary and at its breaking point.

He let out a barely there exhale that could have been a sigh from any other creature, before falling gracefully into a chair beside her bed. Much to her chagrin it took him falling into it to notice the blasted thing. His eyes stayed fixed on her, watching her intently.

“You are brave, to talk to me thusly. In my own halls as you so graciously pointed out.”

Bella only snorted. Her body slowly easing back into the pillows as her eyes slipped closed. Her shoulders relaxed back into the pillows and she brought her hands to rest in her lap.

“I faced Smaug. Elvish kings could not scare me more than that.” 

A strange glint entered his eyes, almost like respect, before it flickered away like a candle in a gale. He gave no other sign of his mood. Though Bella had the distinct impression he found her amusing. 

“That, Celebammen, you and I have in common.” 

They faded into silence. Neither sure how to carry on, simply enjoying the quiet that was strangely comfortable. 

After a long pause, Bella dared break it. But her strength was gone, leaving only her exhaustion.

“Tell me what happened.”

Thranduil paused as he studied her.

His eyes seemed to bore into her very soul, though she could not look away. He seemed to consider whether she could handle the news at the moment. Something in his eyes shifted imperceptibly, in those few seconds of judging and determining her state. He must have found her strong enough to handle whatever he had to say, for he began to speak in his usual aloof, unconcerned and dispassionate drawl. As if his immortality gave as much to his words as to his life, neither feeling the press nor the passing of time.

“The skin-changer managed to break through the ice for the eagles to spirit away. Your mail protected you from being pierced but not from being crushed by enemy weapons. You had minor scrapes that were infected with the filth from the orc blades. You’ve been in and out of fever dreams.”

Bella let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, staring at him in shock.

She was alive. 

Relatively unscathed.

_ Mahal’s balls! _

She gave a start as _ that _ particular curse crossed her mind. Clearly the dwarves had rubbed off on her in unexpected ways.

“How long has it been? Since the battle I mean?” 

Her voice was small and soft. If he did not have his enhanced hearing he may not have heard her. 

His eyes and voice abruptly hardened once more. His gaze seemed to penetrate through to her very feä, as if he knew the question that tried to remain unasked.

“They are alive Belladonna Celebammen, and they have not sought you out from my realm. Though I left messengers with the _ Naugrim _, despite my better judgement. It has been nigh on a fortnight.”

His words lanced through her heart and she staved off the new wave of despair that rocked through her aching body. 

A fortnight. If he had not come for her then he truly had cast her away. 

Could she blame him though? He had been sick but she had betrayed him. She could argue ignorance to her true crime, claim that she did not understand the cultural, nearly religious fervor in which all dwarrow regarded the Arkenstone. She could spin ignorance and Balin would most likely have all the dwarrow law jargon down to back her up.

But she knew.

Secretive though they may think themselves, the Company had not thought to include the gossip mongering nature of hobbits, even respectable ones such as the Baggins’. 

Especially The Baggins.

Just because you were not told something, did not mean you didn’t know. Bella had long ago accepted the fact that while Ignorance was bliss, Knowledge was power. 

When you grow up with hateful whispers following you around the Shire, you learn to listen to the tone if you cannot hear the words. When your aunts and uncles speak with carefully constructed allegorical references about you and your especially odd Tookish ( ‘Really! How dare she marry into the Baggins’ family!’) mother, you learn to hear the _ meaning _ if you cannot hear the words. 

When lads come to call upon you for walks with beautiful bouquets and sweet promises of love and devotion when they had never shown an interest before, you learn to hear the lies that tell a story of greed behind their poems.

So no. Bella had figured out quite a bit from the Company that really ought to remain a secret from her. So she did them the courtesy of not letting them know she had picked up a few phrases or gestures meant to remain secret to outsiders. 

Bifur and Bofur liked to make incredibly crude jokes, so she’d also learned quite a few things she would never dare to acknowledge that she understood anyway.

And Thorin may have taught her a few other words…in moments of passion… or walking along beside him as he tried to rile her up. He had discovered rather quickly that speaking his native tongue in _ just _ the right pitch could get her skirts in a knot faster than any heated touch ever could. _ Those _ words she most definitely would _ not _ be repeating. No thank you! Even reminiscing over simple things like words now brought her heart new waves of agony.

So she knew when she took the Arkenstone it would force Thorin to act. She had just miscalculated how, exactly, he would.

She certainly hadn’t expected the ring of bruises still fading from her neck nearly two weeks later. Bringing her hand to brush gently across the back of her neck, she was startled to feel a slight raise to patches of her skin.

Her heart sunk further.

His nails had dug into her neck hard enough to leave scrapes that would undoubtedly scar. She would forever be reminded of her shame. Even if she left her hair down like she had when she was younger, a gust of wind just a smidgen too strong would uncover her shame for all to see.

Hair would grow back, and it did not carry the same cultural significance (another tidbit she was Not Supposed To Know) to hobbits as it did dwarrow. Sure the jagged locks falling down in the edge of her peripheral was annoying, and most assuredly unattractive, it could be fixed with skillful fingers and careful pinning.

But scars… those didn’t share cultural significance either. She’d often heard the Company boasting and swapping tales about one scar or another. Glóin had eagerly shown off one on his arm his wife had given him while they were courting. He had snuck up behind her to surprise her. While he succeeded, she had thought he’d been a stranger with less than pure intentions, and her knife had flashed out before she could recognize who it was. That one had earned many roars and guffaws from his audience.

But to Hobbits…

Well, she attempted to cheer herself, she was already considered a spinster. And this most recent adventure had surely dropped her respectability to an all time low. A few scars could hardly do too much more damage.

She paused and wondered at the fact that her attempts at cheer had become rather dark.

After several long moments, Bella shook herself from her introspection to find Thranduil looking at her pensively. With a start she realized she had been sitting in silence for quite some time.

“Forgive me, my Lord. I… I was taking it all in.” Her lips turned up into an apologetic smile, though, with a small flinch, she was sure looked more like a grimace.

Thranduil pursed his lips, grey eyes flashing, but he said nothing. He simply continued to stare at her as if she was a particularly frustrating puzzle. 

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Is there ... is there more?”

His fingers beat out a slow rhythm on the arm rest of the chair. The only sound save their breathing and the crackling fire. At last, he spoke, though he kept his gaze steadily on her face, as though if he looked away, he may not meet her eye again. That thought alone caused her some concern. Thranduil Oropherion did not struggle to meet _ anyone’s _gaze.

“You are lucky indeed to have survived the battle Celebammen.”

Her ire returning, Bella crossed her arms and let out an aggrieved huff.

“Really Thranduil, just please say it all at once, it will hardly be better to drag it out—“

He cut her off with a wave of his hand, even as the words spilled forth from his lips and her world teetered off its axis, the roar of a very familiar waterfall drowning out whatever else he said as two words slammed into her. Her vision began to swim as she stared at the stoic elf across from her, though from tears or fading consciousness she couldn’t tell. Despite the pain in her chest, she couldn’t stop herself from dragging in rapid, ragged breaths.

“What did you just say?” 

Thranduil gave her an unamused look, his lips pursed as he stood and moved to the pitcher sitting before the fire. He stared at the water in disgust, as though it offended him by not being wine.

“You’re pregnant.” His words were still cold, uncaring for her growing panic.

Bella stared at him before moving her hands to her belly bewildered.

“I… I…. h-how far…?” She couldn’t force the full sentence out.

Thranduil poured water into a crystal glass and walked over to her bedside, handing her the water in silence, waiting for her to take a shaky sip before he took a seat.

“I am not as artful at healing as Elrond Peredhel, but my healers and I estimate four months.”

Her eyes were blown wide in shock, her voice a broken whisper, “That’s not possible. Hobbits are only pregnant for six months I should be huge—”

His eyes narrowed in contempt as he stared at her. “Your child is not a full hobbit. I know little of the _ Naugrim _ but this I know: their pregnancies are longer than Men’s but shorter than an elleths. I would assume around ten months.”

Bella couldn’t breath, her hands flying to her stomach. “Ten!? -

I-I-I can’t possibly—”

Again he cut her off, waving a hand to silence her. “You will, because you must,” his eyes bore into her, all the gravitas of his age pressing down on her and she could not look away no matter how desperately she wished to. “You are not one to seek to end your pregnancy, nor do I suspect, one to abandon your child. Two choices lay before you halfling: allow yourself to be weak, or force yourself to grow strong.”

With those parting words the Elven King swept from the room, his robes and hair swirling behind him as he stalked out.

Bella stared after him in quiet contemplation. Her mind whirled as she fought to sort through the myriad of emotions bombarding her. And as she sat immersed in her own thoughts, her hand strayed to her belly. Her heart burned with the tumult of her emotions. She was filled with grief, fear, and a curious wonder. The last few weeks had been hellish, of that there was no doubt. Her body ached with bruised and slightly cracked ribs, her exhaustion was settled deep within her bones from fighting the fever, and her throat twinged with pain every time she swallowed. But beneath all that, Bella could not help but to feel a small sliver of joy worming its way back into her heart through all her pain.

Finally her eyes turned to where her hands now lay, as if she could see the life now growing beneath them, and she sent up a silent prayer of gratitude to Yavanna for this tiny miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> Celebammen - Sindarin for 'Silver Tongued' from the Sindarin Celeb - meaning silver and Lammen - meaning tongue (note: this was my attempt to form the words together so it may not be fully accurate)  
Ellyn - Sindarin plural for male elves  
Naugrim - Sindarin for 'Stunted People' name given to the dwarves during the First Age  
Peredhel - Sindarin meaning 'Half Elven' denoting Elronds lineage
> 
> Special thanks to my Beta BleedingBlueKunoichi for helping get this to where it is. I apologize for the wait, it took many MANY edits and re-writes to get this looking so fantastic so seriously, thank you to BBK.
> 
> I won't make any promises on the time frame of the next chapter unfortunately, but take heart! It's because I'm tweaking and refining it for all you lovelies.
> 
> And thanks to everyone for stopping to read this and leave a comment!


	3. The Return To the Shire

Her journey began as most journeys ought to, with a single step.

However, which step was the first on her journey, had become a popular subject of debate within the Elvenking’s halls. From servants to nobility alike to one wandering wizard, everyone liked to weigh in on where her first step occurred.

During the days Bella had spent fighting her infection, she was attended to by various healers. During the worst bouts of her fever, Thranduil himself had lent a hand to her healing, though it was rare that he’d had need to. For the most part, her healing was seen to by one of the head healers, Hiril. 

Hiril was a Silvan elf with waist length tawny hair and piercing hazel eyes. She spoke little of the Common Tongue though, so any speaking that they did was composed of hand gestures and what Sindarin Bella remembered. Hiril was kind and soft spoken though, offering Bella warm smiles and a comforting hand on her shoulder when she noticed her charges distress.

If anyone asked Hiril, she would have said Bella’s journey began two days after the conversation with the King, when Bella managed to take her first steps from her bed.

On the third day of her awakening, Bella was greeted to another unexpected guest in the form of one meddlesome Grey wizard.

When looking back on that moment, both would stoutly deny they had ever shed tears at that reunion.

Gandalf settled himself into one of the armchairs before the fire. His staff lay next to the door forgotten, and his hat stopped low over his eyes as he dug around for his pipe. Bella sat next to him in front of the fire, setting the book she had been reading down onto the low table between them. They were quiet as Gandalf worked to light his pipe, and Bella stared into the fire.

At last, once Gandalf had managed a few well constructed smoke rings, he turned his attention to the hobbit beside him.

“I am glad you are doing well my dear. When I heard you were last seen under the ice I had feared the worst had befallen you. Yet it seems my worry was in vain. You hobbits seem to be sturdier than I ever dared to think. It was Gwaihir who told me of your fate, and where I could find you. But tell me your side Bella, for when I asked Thranduil he… well he was as he always is, and that is to say mostly unhelpful.” Gandalf harrumphed as he chewed on his pipe.

Bella snorted and picked up her water glass shaking her head. “You are one to talk Gandalf. As if you don’t speak in riddles yourself.” Here she sighed and blew through her nose, glaring at her cup as if it could give her the answers to the questions she dare not voice. “In truth, I know little myself. The king said I had been crushed and plagued by fevers, and Hiril has told me my ribs were broken…”

Gandalf eyed her over his pipe, idly chewing on the end. He studied the slumped shoulders and the nervous twisting of her hands. Bella was wringing her hands together so tightly her knuckles turned white, and faint red marks could be seen where her nails were digging into her palms, threatening to break through the skin.

“Well that is more than I heard from Thranduil, yet I have the distinct feeling there’s more. What troubles lay so heavy on your mind you feel you cannot speak them to an old friend?” 

Unbidden, Bella felt tears begin to well up in her eyes, the flickering lights of the fire began to blur and shimmer through her tears. The unexpected display of emotion on fueled the Istari’s worry to grow.

“Come now Bella, I did not mean to cause duress. Share your burdens with me and I may make your load lighter to bear.”

Bella choked out a wet laugh as she shook her head, bringing a shaking hand up to brush the hair back from her face. She stared crossly at the locks that dared fall back into her face, bitterly wishing for a clip or leather tie. Her other hand strayed unconsciously to her middle, cradling the very slight bump she felt beneath her clothes. Beside her Gandalf choked on his pipe, spluttering as his eyes widened. Her lips twisted into a sardonic smile.

“This burden, Gandalf, I have to bear alone.”

Gandalf puffed furiously on his pipe, muttering under his breath in a tongue she didn’t know but highly suspecting he was cursing a certain dwarf. His eyes flashed with a cold fury and his hand tapped out a steady rhythm on his knee.

“Be that as it may, this is a burden to be welcomed surely? And while I may not be able to  _ bear  _ this burden for you, I can at least keep you company for some time yet.”

She looked at him sidelong, disbelieving of his words.

“Are you certain? No mystical stones you have to recover? No kingdom on the verge of collapse awaiting your timely intervention?”

Gandalf pinked slightly and grumbled under his breath what sounded suspiciously like ‘impertinent hobbits’ and took his pipe from his mouth with one hand, leveling the other to point at her with a most unimpressive glare.

“I’ll have you know that while you and that lot of impatient dwarves were waking a dragon, I was dealing with a threat in this very forest! And with the defeat of the that foe and the orc armies, I am quite ready for a little vacation myself. And I can find no better company for my vacation than an old friend.”

Bella laughed wetly, scrubbing at her red rimmed eyes as her tears ceased and her smile grew.

“Then I would be glad to share in your vacation time Gandalf. Might I suggest, for the start of your vacation, you find a way to get us out of this blasted forest? I find my feet are aching to journey home, and my heart is heavy with the desire to be in front of a more familiar hearth.”

Like a summer storm, the dark clouds in Gandalf’s visage faded away and the twinkle returned to his eye.

“That, my dear Bella, sounds like a burden I  _ can  _ share with you.”

So it was that Gandalf bustled from her room and set about persuading (read: nagging) the Elvenking that his hobbit guest would fair better and swifter in her recovery in the comfort of her own home West of the Misty Mountains.

And if anyone had bothered to ask Gandalf’s opinion on where her journey began, he would harrumph and mutter and grumble on, before stating it began when she stepped out the front door of Bag End, nearly one year ago. Because she had yet to return, he reasoned, she could not begin a new journey. This was simply a mild delay in her original quest.

A week after her first conversation with the Elvenking, Bella was only moderately surprised to wake and find him once more lounging in the chair beside her bed. Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to sit up, cheeks turning a brilliant shade of scarlet as she was very aware of her under dressed state. Though this time she lacked the excuse of a convenient recovery to explain away the over sized shift she had worn to bed. So in typical Took fashion, as was becoming more and more common to the Baggins’ growing horror, she let her mouth run away with her to scold the king.

“Has no one ever told you it’s exceedingly rude to barge into a lady’s room, uninvited, while she sleeps!? It’s highly improper! I’m not even properly dressed!” Her voice rose several octaves until it finally cracked on the last word, shame overwhelming her as she grabbed up the sheet and tugged it above her bosom in a vain attempt to preserve her modesty.

Thranduil arched one stupidly sculpted eyebrow and stared at her unblinking. His stupid face still settled into his usual stupid—

Bella took a deep breath, trying to shove her rage down before it could get her into any real trouble with her host.

The raised a goblet to his lips, this one’s contents shimmering a deep maroon hue, undoubtedly his favored Dorwinion wine.

“Mithrandir will not stop his infernal squawking about your imminent departure from my woods.” His words rolled like honey over warm bread, thick, rich, and languid.

Her brow furrowed as she grit her teeth, fists clenching the sheet so tightly her knuckles threatened to become permanently white.

“What, precisely, would you have me do about that? I don’t control Gandalf.”

Thranduil gave a noncommittal hum, swirling the wine in his glass and staring into it.

“And what a pity that is… But the fact remains that winter will set in soon, and to attempt to take the pass over the Mountains now would mean your death. It would be wise to remain within my halls until Spring. I will not let it be said the Silvan elves would turn away an expecting mother to find her death.”

Bella’s heart stopped at the thought of crossing the mountains in the middle of winter. As much as she hated to, Bella could see the reason behind the king’s words. If she were to leave now, it would take a week to reach the foothills of the mountains. Perhaps even longer. By then it would be pushing their crossing to just before Afteryule, in the dead set of winter. 

Unbidden, thoughts of the Fell Winter came to her mind, and she shuddered at the thought of being caught in winter storms high in the mountains with little to no shelter. If it did not kill her, it would almost surely kill her baby.

“You’re right,” she croaked at last, throat dry with the sudden fear, “yet I am loath to tarry longer than I have. Already I’ve been away for far too long…”

Thranduil eyed her silently as he took another sip of his wine, his eyes roving over her body, assessing her still healing injuries.

“If you do not wish to stay, I will not force you. If you will not risk the mountain pass, nor enjoy my hospitality, then I advise you make your way south, to the Gap of Rohan. That path at least, is clear. The weather is milder in the winter as well and you should brook no delay.”

Bella stared at him curiously, hesitant to trust the elf that had intended to keep the Company captive for a hundred years out of pettiness and spite.

“Why would you help me?” 

Cold blue eyes stared down at her impassively, drinking the final dregs from his goblet and setting it down on the side table, he stood and turned towards the door. But his words floated back to her nonetheless.

“You gave the Arkenstone and your treasure to help those who meant you and yours ill. Consider this my repayment of your kindness. My son Legolas shall escort you to our southern border with a company of his warriors. Supplies will be gathered. You and the Istari will depart in one week.” 

With nothing left to say, Thranduil strode through the doorway into the hall, and returned to his duties.

If his servants and nobles had dared to ask him, he would say the hobbits journey would begin when she stepped foot outside his halls on her way south. 

Bella ran into Prince Legolas quite literally when she wandered down the halls the day before her departure. Her eyes were clouded, staring unseeing at the hallway in front of her. She was so lost in her thoughts of departure and what the future held that she didn’t hear the pointed throat clearing in front of her, nor the stopped figure of the Prince standing before her. Well, not until she ran into his legs at least.

Startled Bella stumbled back, “B-begging your pardon—” she stopped abruptly and stared up into the warm blue gaze of the Silvan prince. His hair shown in the light, pale gold and glimmering. Unlike his father, he wore two plaits running from his temples and to the nape of his neck, keeping the hair from his face in customary warrior braids.

Bella blushed and staggered back, her bare feet making no sound against the carved floor of the hall. Legolas smiled slightly and waved a hand dismissively.

“ _ Mae l’ovannen _ , Lady Belladonna. Would you be opposed to walking with me?” His voice was smooth and warm, charming where his father was frigid.

‘ _ He must take after his mother’ _ she thought uncharitably, before shame gripped her and she tore that thought to shreds.

“I… would like some company I suppose. Forgive me, my mind is… I’m simply distracted.” She tried to smile, though she was sure her worry must have still been obvious if the slight narrowing of his eyes was any indication. Legolas was kind enough not to comment and instead he began leading her through the halls to some unknown destination.

“I have heard some of your troubles from my father, but I have not had a chance to offer my congratulations before. You are blessed indeed to come out of the battle intact.” He gave her a small smile, blue eyes shining with understanding. “Though I have heard tell you do not see it as such.”

Bella gaped, staring up at the prince and his bold words in shock. Though it made some degree of sense, he was a prince in his own realm, no doubt he was unused to people calling him out for being too bold.

“I hardly see how that’s any of your concern!” Her hand came up to rest protectively on her belly, her cheeks flushed with anger.

Legolas stared down at her, still smiling. Though now her instincts niggled at her in the back of her mind to pay more attention. Because though the elven prince smiled, there was a familiar calculating gleam beneath the understanding and warmth in his visage. Old were his eyes, though not as old as his fathers. They carried a weight and wisdom few mortals could match. But that calculating gleam was all too familiar.

She’d seen it in the eyes of the Elvenking beneath his frigid and dispassionate visage. 

‘ _ Perhaps he takes after his father more than I realized.’ _

“My company and I will be leading you through our woods. The threat may have been dealt with in Dol Guldur, yet darkness lingers inside our borders. My company and I will be guarding you throughout our journey, at much risk to ourselves. You are welcome to stay here for the winter, and we can escort you more safely across the mountains to Imladris in the spring when the paths have cleared, through safer woodland trails. There is no reason to venture through the south woods of _ Eryn Galen _ , where darkness lingers yet.”

Bella looked at him, her eyes flashing with growing rage before she looked away. Her heart clenched in pain as his words flooded through her. Here was a Prince who cared for his people, that was all. She was an outsider asking his people to risk their lives to escort her when she had the option to stay. Cold and off putting, Thranduil had given his backhanded invitation to stay in his halls where it was safe. Safe from wolves, safe from spiders, safe from cold.

The shadow of Erebor pressed down upon her, stealing her breath away. Her chest felt tight, caught in a vice and unable to breath air in.

“I do, Prince Legolas… I do appreciate your fathers… offer… to stay, and I do appreciate the risk you and your company are taking for me. I just… I can’t… I can’t stay so close and yet so f—” Here she cut herself off, chewing her bottom lip and cursing the tears that welled in her eyes.

But Legolas turned his face away in kindness, giving her a moment to compose herself before he spoke. The calculation was gone, and the warmth now gathered in his eyes was filled with far too much understanding. His voice was softer with kindness and he rested a warm hand upon her shoulder.

“Forgive me, my Lady. The darkness of the forest often spurs myself and my people to suspicion and we forget our manners. My words caused you distress and for that I apologize.” He turned to face her fully and pressed his fist to his heart in the traditional elven parting. “I will meet you at the gates tomorrow before the break of dawn.” With those last parting words he turned and strode down the hall, nodding to the servants he passed and humming beneath his breath.

Bella was left standing there, blinking after him in confusion. She had long admired the elves her mother and father had told her stories of, yet now that she had spent time in their presence she was startled to find they confused her greatly. 

Perhaps her dwarves had a point when they said elves would answer with both yes and no. Her conversations with both elves had left her reeling, Thranduil has seemed to offer her kindness disguised with indifference, and his son had interrogated her through the veil of kindness. Yet she had the distinct impression that neither had been disingenuous in their concern, merely playing a game that Bella was unaware of.

Shaking her head Bella continued on her way back to her rooms. 

Down the hall, Legolas stopped to speak with two servants.

He tilted his head, gaze thoughtful.

“When did her journey begin?...” He turned his gaze down the hallway to Bella’s retreating form, a small smile curved his lips. “I believe it began with the return of her courage.” 

No matter how they pressed, Legolas only smiled and refused to elaborate, continuing on his way to make preparations and get in a few hours of archery practice. Well, he called it practice, his father called it playing. Legolas’ smile grew and he once again turned directions, going instead to pester, or rather seek out, his father.

The next morning when Bella and Gandalf made their way to the front gates, they found Thranduil and Legolas surrounded by a contingent of lightly armored elves. The elves were clad in brown and green leathers. Even standing in front of the gates separate from the woods behind them, the hobbit had to focus on each specific elf lest they seem to disappear from her sight.

Bella fingered the small lump in her pocket unconsciously before shaking her head and focusing on the two royals in front of her. Thranduil stood with all the haughty grace and regalia of his station, his deep silver robes made of rich velvets and silks, with silver thread flashing in the light when he moved. Legolas on the other hand stood in similar garb to the woodland soldiers, with rich deep browns and greens, his hair plaited in his braids and bow slung across his back. She curtsied quickly to both when she stopped, earning a brief smile from Gandalf.

Thranduil leveled his coldest stare upon the hobbit in front of him. His voice as cold as ever.

“You will not stay.” 

It came out more of a statement rather than a question, but Bella answered anyway.

“I accept the risks and the aid you offer in gratitude. The elves of Mir— Greenwood are most kind to offer me an escort.”

Thranduil eyes tightened at the edges, no doubt catching her slip and guessing to what she had nearly said. But he tilted his head in acknowledgment before turning to leave without another word. 

If Bella wasn’t mistaken though, his hand brushed his sons briefly before he swept away, his robes fluttering behind him like the wings of morning doves.

Legolas smiled and hopped forward, his eyes dancing merrily. “Let us tarry no longer mellyn nin. We have many miles to cover while the Sun shines in the sky.”

With that he turned and strode through the yawning gates, calling out to his company as he passed into the woods. 

Bella looked to Gandalf beside her before turning determinedly to face the dark of Mirkwood. She stepped carefully onto the grassy path, enjoying for the first time in weeks, the feel of grass and not stone beneath her feet. Involuntarily her toes curled into the grass and she breathed in deeply. The air was not as fresh as she would have liked, but it lacked the stuffiness she had endured locked away in the cavernous halls. Gandalf rested a hand on her shoulder as he passed.

“Come along Bella my dear, it’s as Legolas said, we’ve a long journey ahead of us.”

It was as she moved to follow Bella felt a fluttering stir in her belly that stole her breath. Her hand rose quickly to rest on her stomach. Shock and awe filled her as she felt so very faintly the little life stirring beneath her heart. Green eyes glanced down in wonder as a small smile tilted her lips up and tears, the joyful kind for a change, gathered in the corners of her eyes.

With a short bark of laughter Bella hastened to catch up to Gandalf and Legolas, shaking her head at their curious gazes, refusing to answer their questions for her sudden joy.

If the servants had been able to ask, or dared to for that matter, Bella would have told them her journey began with that first flutter, that first true sign of the life she carried within her. That’s when she felt a new journey had begun for her. The road would be dark and perilous at times. 

And yet….

Bella placed her hand on her belly, smiling to herself.

It would be worth it in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! This chapter isn’t edited, so feel free to make any edits or comments in the comments!


	4. The Road Goes Ever On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised version posted September 23rd 2020

The road to Lothlórien proved to be much more pleasant than the journey to Erebor had been, though it was not without its perils.

To start, the journey through Mirkwood was not nearly so treacherous when escorted through by the kingdom's own guards. Though the trees were still dark and the branches creaked and croaked above their heads, sunlight shone through more often under the lyrical chanting and singing of their escort. Legolas himself spent much of his time twining between trunks, his hands trailing along rough and smooth bark indiscriminately. His fingers trailed off each trunk to the next with slow reluctance, as if pained for not having the time to stay longer with each tree. His voice rose sweetly into the air, and though sung in an elvish dialect Bella could not decipher, it left her feeling equally aggrieved and hopeful. Every once in a while she would catch a glimpse of movement in the trees above her, the flash of green jerkins amidst the verdant leaves.

In the company of the elves, the trees of Mirkwood were lighter, though they were still far from welcoming. They crossed beneath the boughs swiftly and with little incident. They had avoided known spiders nests and steered steadily closer to the edges of the forest. Only a little longer than a week had passed since they departed the subterranean kingdom, and wound around the foothills of the mountains within the forest, as spiders were notorious for hiding within the craggy slopes, they began to make their way out of the forest. Despite their skills and numbers, Prince Legolas refused to bring his company any further south than he had to. Dol Guldur, as he often reminded her, was only recently bereft of its master. His servants would no doubt still be lingering there, and the spiders would most likely swarm to feed on the darkness and death that lingered there. 

  
Gandalf’s face grew ashy when Legolas mentioned the Necromancer, and was always quick to change the subject, blue eyes darting between the trees warily as though waiting for some evil thing to pounce upon them. The elves seldom minded the blatant subject change; they rarely spoke of evil things themselves. 

After her encounter with Smaug, Bella was loath to speak of any ill news herself. After the reminder of darker times, she couldn’t bring herself to follow along with the conversation; mind trapped in her memories even as they made camp and she curled into her bedroll near to the fire. The heat warmed her cheeks and choked off the cold that was creeping into her bones.

Thoughts of the dragon ricocheted through her, her heart beating faster as she got lost in the memories of that confrontation. The putrid stench of his breath, like sulfur and scorched bodies, rancid meat and decaying flesh, smoke and fire and evil made flesh. His eyes like burning flames, and though she was invisible his eyes still pierced through her. Distant memories of her mother telling her the story of Turin son of Hurin that Belladonna had learned during her visits to Imladris and his doom with Glaurung; the warning to never lock eyes with a dragon. The enchantments bred into their very being that made eyes and tongue as dangerous as claw and tooth and flame. Tears nearly fell from her eyes as her heartbeat sped up.

_ “Remember Bella-girl, Turin looked into the dragon's eyes and was caught in his spell, and Nienor made the mistake of giving away her true name. Dragons weave spells with nary a sound or spell. Their spells are in their blood, the same way adventures are in mine and yours. We’re just born with it. Never give a dragon your name, because names have power. And dragons will try to pull it out of you and enchant you to give up too much information.” _

If only her mother had known how valuable that story would become to her daughter, she probably would have had a conniption. 

_ Smaug’s breathing polluted the air around her, she could barely hear his body slithering through the gold, his movements as silent as a duck moving through the pond hunting for fish. The only sound was the clinking of gold upon gold as piles fell where his claws sunk into the mounds. Bella shoved her hand into her mouth and bit down as hard as she could to stop herself from screaming when his gargantuan head swung around the corner, smoke hissing between his teeth as he breathed out. His eyes were liquid flame, filled to the brim with malice and avarice. _

_ “I smell you, thief in the dark. Come out of the shadows. Let me see you.” _

_ She gagged silently on the stench of his breath, the acrid stink bringing tears to her eyes with its putrid fervor before she silently sunk to the ground, making herself small so his arms and wings did not brush against her on accident. The golden red scales dropped coins and precious gems as he passed, clinking down into more piles. _

_ When his body was past she crept away trying to get behind another pillar further away. His voice was compelling, the urge to take off her ring and walk out to appear before him burned within her very soul, as if his fire had somehow slithered inside her mind and was slowly wrapping around her brain, clogging her thoughts and making her movements sluggish.  _

_ His voice had probably been the final factor in whatever madness made her take her ring off. _

_ The ensuing riddles she had thrown out and simpering praises had been half-cooked at best, her mind screaming at her to wake up and realize the true danger she was in. But even with her attempts at riddling her name, at giving title instead of her name, had been failures. His innate magic had won out with her last title. _

_ “—Barrel Rider they call me, O Smaug the Terrible” _

_ Smaug reared back, his chest puffing out as licks of flame escaped between his teeth and the darkness consumed the living flame in his eyes. His claws sunk into the gold beneath his feet and his wings twitched in rage, snapping once and causing a small gale of wind to topple the surrounding mounds. _

_ “Barrels? Those pathetic humans are involved then are they? They’ve sent you and those loathsome dwarves to steal my treasure!” _

_ She saw the chink in his scaled armor, her eyes were blown wide with fear even as a small seedling of hope sprang forth in her chest. If she could just get back to the others, if she could just escape— _

_ “You’ve been amusing, thief in the shadows, but now I’ve grown bored.” His maw opened and a terrible burning fire built in his throat, Bella could only stare in fear and horror and terror at the growing flame, too stunned to move. It was going to get her it was going to consume her she had to— _

“—Bella! Bella! It’s alright, it’s alright you are safe! Come back to us!”

Bella jolted awake gasping in ragged breaths for air. Her eyes were blown wide in lingering fear as she looked into the concerned face of Gandalf. His eyes crinkled in worry as he stared down at her, a large calming hand on her shoulder.

Her throat bobbed, her words lodged in her throat unable to be spoken even as a mere whisper. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her lungs burning as though starved despite their desperate attempt to reel in air. Gandalf’s hand tightened on her shoulder, his eyes warm and kind.

“It’s alright my dear girl, breathe. Take you time, slowly now. Hmm… yes yes good, very good.” His words were softly spoken and calm, ushering her fright away gently yet persistently. He kept a running monologue as her breathing gradually slowed and the lump in her throat faded away. At last she looked up at him, face ashen.

“What happened?” Her voice was meek, unsure.

Gandalf sighed and sat back on his heels, finally allowing his hand to fall from her shoulder.

Bella shivered from the loss of warmth.

The wizard set his staff across his lap as he rifled through his cloak to find his pipe. He muttered to himself as he struggled to light it, eyes never lifting from it until at last he managed to start puffing away. Once he had managed to get a few clouds rising from the pipe, he lifted his gaze to hers, as sapphire met emerald, sympathy heavily laced within his words.

“Memories, my dear. Memories that I regret you had to make. You laid as if in a dream yet never sleeping. When the memories began to overwhelm you, you lashed out, thrashing wildly around you. You were seconds from flailing into the fire when I caught you and drug you back.”

Bella blinked and looked at the fire and indeed, her blankets and bedroll were perilously close to the flames. She lunged forward to seize the blankets just before a burning log managed to topple down to where they had been lying moments before. She clutched the blanket to her chest, the warmth from the fire still lingering in her flaming cheeks. She shuddered and shifted further away from the fire, trying to ignore the eyes of the elves and the wizard. She turned her gaze to the sky, looking for a hint of the sun on the horizon.

She quite pointedly did not expand on what memories had caused her nightmares. 

Nor did she think Gandalf needed the explanation.

“How far off is dawn?” Her voice was quiet and somber, the horror of her memories still lingering and capturing her courage.

Gandalf eyed her curiously as he puffed away on his pipe, his eyes wandering to the Eastern horizon.

“Still an hour or so off I’d wager.”

Bella shivered as the warmth faded and the cold of the looming winter penetrated deep within her to her bones.

“If it’s alright with you and the others I’d like to continue. I shan’t find sleep again this night I’m afraid.”

Gandalf nodded silently, the wrinkles and lines in his face growing deeper and rougher in the flickering shadows of the fire.

“I shall speak to Legolas and the others.” He stood from his seat slowly with one last lingering look at Bella, his eyes deep in thought and pondering, as if assessing her true state before he shambled off to consult the elven prince.

Bella gave a small sigh of relief as she curled tighter into a ball. Though she moved closer to the fire as she waited, the warmth of the fire could not reach her through the stranglehold of the frost within her soul.

  
  


X~X~X~X

  
  


When Kili looked back on the days following the Battle of Five Armies, as some of the men began to call it, all he could think about was the sheer cold panic and terror that washed over him as he searched the battle field for his family. 

From the time that he, Fili, Dwalin, and Thorin had made their way up to Ravenhill, Kili had longed for Ered Luin. This journey to reclaim the Lonely Mountain had done nothing to grow Kili’s love for the lost homeland. He was  _ not _ an Ereborian dwarf. His mother was, and so was his uncle, but Kili and Fili had both been sons of the Blue Mountains. Their mother and uncle had spoken to them often of the beauty and majesty of  _ their _ homeland, but to Kili, ever the youngest, those stories had been nothing more than fairytales and history: something to be left in the past.

On the journey to the mountain, especially once they had escaped the goblins, Fili and Kili had long discussed their thoughts on the entire quest in private, away from the prying ears of their companions. 

After the confrontation on the ramparts, Kili wished desperately that he had never left the Blue Mountains. That his uncle had never undertaken this quest.

That the body he was turning over on the ground wouldn’t be his uncle, and mentally screaming and wishing he could tear at his hair because  _ it was still  _ ** _one of his people oh Mahal _ ** ** _why?!_ **

Kili stumbled on from the corpse, his stomach roiling as he looked on and on for his family, throat so tight he could barely breathe, let alone call no matter how desperately his heart was screaming Fili, Fili  _ Fili,  _ ** _Fili_ ** —!

He shook his head adamantly, refusing to lose himself to his mounting grief when there was still hope, he hadn’t found them yet. He refused to acknowledge the memories of his mother and uncle telling fond stories and memories of  _ their _ brother, his Uncle Frerin who had died years before even Fili was born, the regret and sorrow in their voices and the sheer pain of losing his  _ brother— _

Kili closed his eyes and paused, struggling to breathe. Despite his rigid control a single tear fell from his eyes that he quickly scrubbed away. Kili looked forward once more, trying desperately to not look too closely at the bodies near him as he cleared his throat and stumbled ever on, now resolved to find his strength. Though he faltered more than once, finally, finally he found the strength to clear the lump lodged in his throat to choke out-

“Fili!”

And bless him if Mahal wasn’t listening to the prayers of his heart if he didn’t hear back weakly;

“Kili?”

His heart soaring, Kili lurched forward to the voice, a smile splitting his face as he tripped through the corpse littered field.

“NADAD!”

And there cresting the hill was the slumping form of Fili. Battered and bruised and bloodied Fili looked up, his haunted eyes lighting up in joy, relief, and love at the sight of his little brother stumbling towards him.

“Kili!!!” 

Limping down the hill Fili rushed his brother and they came together in a violent crash, foreheads smashing together before lingering, hands reaching for braids and beads and eyes fluttering closed as relief swelled between them. They stood there breathing, taking in the fact that on this day at least, the line of Durin endured.

But more importantly, that their  _ family _ endured.

Kili pulled back at last, though not enough to lose his hold on his brother, still disbelieving this reunion was real.

“Have you seen Thorin?”

Fili’s eyes darkened, but he nodded. Blue eyes flickering off to the side where their cousin Dain stood with a few of his advisors and a bloodied Balin.

“He’s been taken to the healing tents, Oín is with him. Dwalin found him up on the frozen river unconscious, with ten orcs dead around him.”

And what a sight that had been. Fili had limped up there later to look over the river beneath Ravenhill. The orcs had been slashed and hacked through, and the place where uncle's body had lain had had several cracks in the ice around it and crimson stained ice. But most interesting had been the large man shaped hole in the ice ten feet to his uncle's left, towards the frozen waterfall. And then right at the edge of the waterfall there had been the slightly smaller hole in the ice near the drop.

Fili shook his head and gave his brother a weak smile and clasped his shoulder, squeezing firmly but carefully, just Incase his brother had an injury Fili couldn’t see,

“Uncle will be fine, he has several cracked ribs, a rather bad cut through his foot, and a head wound. Oín is most worried about that one, says Thorin may sleep for a while before his head is ready to wake up. Dwalin is with him, and Balin, Dain, and the advisors Dain brought with him are figuring out camp and supply problems. Balin already told me I have to fill in for Uncle while he’s resting.”

And though Fili kept his voice light in an effort not to worry his brother, Kili read through him, and indeed he alone knew how reluctant his brother was to actually lead their people. Though they had both been raised their entire lives with the knowledge that they would be their uncle’s heirs, neither was eager to claim the throne or the responsibility that came with their titles. 

Kili smiled weakly up at his brother, keeping one hand on his brother's shoulder as sudden weariness overcame him.

“You’ll do fine Fi, and I’ll be here to keep you sane and drag you away when you need me to. Though I may go see Oín for a bit, if he’s not too busy with Thorin.”

Together they made their way slowly to the healing tents, supporting one another physically, and relishing in the relief of the others' survival. They would take many days to recover, to find the rest of their scattered company that lay littered between various healing tents. Yet recover they would. Slowly but steadily as dwarves are inclined to, each of the thirteen made their way from sick bed to the restoration efforts.

Balin recovered first, with the least wounds among them with only a few scrapes and bruises, Dwalin right beside him. Then came Ori and Nori, who had been protected mostly by Dori throughout the battle, and took great care in mothering their elder brother. Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur all made their way to the male shift kitchens when bones had mended enough to walk mostly unaided. Fill left the tents with a brace for his leg designed by Oin and Bifur, and Gloin hobbled off to help sort and guard the treasury. Kili of course followed after his brother, though he frequently required breaks to catch his breath, and give his aching ribs time to recover. So it was also Kili who finally raised the question none dared to ask.

“Where’s Bella? Has she been seen to as well?” He looked around the gathered dwarves (save Thorin who was still sleeping, and Oin who was finishing up his nightly rounds). He looked around the grim and grimy faces, and no eyes would dare to meet his own. “What? Has no one checked up on her?”

Balin sighed and set down his fork, stroking his beard.

“Lad…She’s… she’s not been found.”

His voice, low and gravelly. Settled a great weight upon all present, as they all dared not look into each other’s eyes, lest they find the guilt and accusation from each other that they all felt themselves. Kili looked at them in disbelief.

“Then why are we sitting here eating?! We should be out searching for her—” His voice raises as he struggled to his feet, throwing down his food in disgust.

Dwalin slammed his mug down on the table, the ale sloshing out over the rim from the force. His eyes were filled with the fire of his fury as he glowered at the younger prince.

“We do not search for her because  _ we are forbidden to!” _

Silence descended upon the table at his outburst, none moving, none breathing.

Kioi looked at him with mouth agape.

“You…. you cannot be serious?! We know Thorin was not in his right mind! We know that he didn’t mean—”

Bakin put a hand on his brother's shoulder and pulled him back to the bench as he shook his head at the younger dwarf.

“It doesn’t matter, Thorin is the King and his word is law. Until he says otherwise, we have a duty to obey him.” Balin’s words were slow and measured, but could not dampen the sorrow that lingered in his heart over the misfortune of the hobbit.

Fili shook his head and glared balefully down at his food.

“Well if Thorin is resting and I am regent in his stead then surely I can lift the ban and send out parties to search for her?” His tone was tentatively hopeful as he looked beseechingly to Balin. Though raised to be the heirs, Kili and Fili both had struggled keeping all the laws and rules of their people straight, especially the finer nuances that applied to the royal family. Their mother Dis was much more knowledgeable. Between her and Balin, both sons of Vili had hoped to rely on their guidance for a few more decades at least.

Alas Balin shook his head in regret.

“No. You could only reverse Thorin's decision after his death. You can implement new policies or laws, but they would be reconsidered upon his return to health. Even those are limited to matters which don’t affect our entire people.”

Fili slumped in his seat and closed his eyes.

“I thought as much.”

Kili looked around at the table in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious. After everything she did for us, we can’t even look to make sure she’s  _ alive _ !?”

Dwalin scowled at the prince before downing the last of his ale to the dregs.

“Aye. Until Thorin wakes up, she remains banished.”

Kili could only stare as his ire grew. His fists clenched at his sides before he turned and abruptly left the table, heading to the rooms he had been given in a safer part of the city.

Balin frowned as he watched the young prince storm off, but made no move to follow. He understood the lad's anger and thought he deserved time to cool off. Fili however knew his little brother better, and stood to follow after his retreating form quickly.

Nearly jogging to catch up to his brother, he placed a hand on Kili’s shoulder but did not stop him.

“What are you doing Kili?” His voice was soft, reserved as he looked to the darker haired dwarf.

Kili looked to his brother, his lips drawn into a grim line before he continued marching to their room.

“Thorn will see sense when he wakes up. And if he doesn’t, you send for Amad and she’ll come knock it into him.”

Fili’s trepidation grew at his brother's words and he stared hard at his younger brother even as they entered their room and Kili went for his bow. He frowned and blocked the doorway.

“Kili. What are you going on about? You can convince uncle with me when he wakes up.”

But the younger only shook his head as he packed his clothes and spare weapons into his rucksack.

“No I won’t.” He tied the bag off roughly as he stood and faced his brother. Walking up to him and clasping his shoulder, he stared into his eyes, imploring his brother to understand. “I won’t because I won’t be here. I’m going after her.”

Fili sucked in a breath as his eyes widened. He reached up to grab his brother's shoulders, barely restraining himself from shaking the younger dwarf.

“You heard what they said! Thorin’s decision still stands, if you leave you’ll be banished and I  _ cannot reverse it!” _

Kili smiled sadly and rested his forehead against his brothers, knocking their heads together gently. “I know. That’s why you’ll need to get him to reverse his decision, and send for Amad if you can’t. She won’t stand for her youngest to be banished.”

Fili closed his eyes, his throat tight. 

“I’ll come with you, just let me get my things.”

Killi shook his head and clutched his brother closer.

“You can’t nadad, you need to stay and be regent. You need to lead our people and try to convince Thorin he was being stupid. I have to go alone.”

Fili shuddered as he was forced to accept the truth of his brother's words, his voice tight with grief as he bumped their heads together again.

“Be safe nadadith.”

Kili smiled as he pulled back, adjusting the bag and bow on his back.

“I will Fili, you’ll see.”

He moved around Fili and strode down the hall, his head high and his back straight as he ignored the dwarrow watching him leave for the front gate.

Fili stood in the doorway of their bedroom watching his little brother leave, his fist tightening and gripping the frame until his knuckles turned white.

He sent a silent prayer to Mahal to watch over his brother.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. A New Kind of Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry everyone! It’s been far too long since I last updated. To be frank, I lost my inspiration for a while and was stuck on how to write the chapters between Mirkwood and Rivendell. I had planned at least two to three chapters, possibly five about Lothlorien and Rohan, but decided against it and instead skipped to Rivendell. I’ve gone back and read through the previous chapters and I’m not entirely happy with them. I tried too hard to adopt a loftier narration style because I was largely inspired by the Silmarillion for this story, as well as other stories I’ve read and adored about Fem!Bilbo.
> 
> So eventually, I may go back and re-write those chapters, but for now I’ve decided to just try and write what feels right to me. I have one more chapter that I’ve pre-written and had planned for it to be a later chapter, possibly in the teens, but I’ve decided to put it as the sixth chapter instead.
> 
> I’ve skipped most of her pregnancy for one simple reason: I’ve never been pregnant. I don’t know how to write something deep and moving about something I’ve never experienced. So rather than trying to fake it, I’ve decided to skip it.
> 
> Sorry for the long note, I’ll let you all get to it!

The day began with the soft breaking of dawn. Red streaks heralded the end of the night, as the soft grey sky of the morning gave way to Arien, her radiant beams spearing the darkness. 

Bella found herself surveying the landscape around her, taking note of the jasper plains spread before them. The grass rolled in the wind were cresting waves of billowing heavy stalks, laden with the weight of seeds ripe for scattering to the wind, ensuring the next generation of grass would grow after the chill of winter. The clip-clopping of their mounts were lost into silence of this swaying sea. Here and there, the hobbit could spy the grasping fingers of scattered trees. Their leaves shifted and sashayed in the gentle breezes rolling through the great grass sea before them. Branches twisting and twirling into the sky. Stretching and growing in vain to touch the light of Arien for themselves.

Over the course of the last several months on the road, Bella found herself eagerly anticipating the return to her home. Her heart was heavy with grief and pain, as her mind struggled to move past the hurt and abandonment she felt. When her thoughts lingered too heavily on  _ those  _ events, phantom pain shot through her neck, the scars hidden beneath her hair tingling from the ghost of his grip.

Yet while her heart was heavy with those burdens, and her shoulders weighed down by the weight of her regret, Bella  _ did  _ find that her spirits were lifted by the bundle in her arms, tucked close to her breast.

A quiet coo left the bundle in her arms, escaping from the swath of silken blankets that had been gifted to her by Lord Elrond. Bella smiled down at her happy burden, even if her eyes retained a shadow of her grief. Still, her little Sapling helped to chase most of the darkness away. 

Turning her gaze to the rolling hills in front of them once more, Bella couldn’t help but to lose herself in her memories.

_ *~*~*~* Flashback *~*~*~* _

_ They had been so close, so so close, to the Shire when her water broke. _

_ Gandalf and Bella had only recently crossed into Arnor, a week's travel from the Shire, when Bella felt the rush of liquid down her legs. She’d looked down in horror, feeling terribly embarrassed, at the growing stain on her skirts. Her flustered mind barely had a chance to connect the dots before Gandalf had stiffened behind her. _

_ Bella hadn’t been able to walk or ride on her own for the last month of their journey. Her tiny bulge had grown and expanded far more than she had expected. Her heart sunk low to her feet when she remembered her Sapling would be half-dwarf. A race that while similar in height to Hobbits, still managed to be taller than them more often than not. It only made sense that their children would be larger than a Hobbit’s as well. _

_ With the fluid gushing down her leg, it hadn’t been anything more than reflex to turn and look up at her dear friend with fear and anxiety filling Bella’s gaze. _

_ Given the forlorn and worried expression in the wizard's haggard face, Bella humbly acknowledged that he must have figured it out as well. Her biggest fear since she had taken the time to think about her pregnancy. _

_ What if the baby was too big? _

_ Without a word spoken between them, Gandalf kicked the side of his horse, urging them on into a gallop towards their (her) only hope of a safe delivery. _

_ Imladris. _

_ Lord Elrond was the best healer in all of Arda, and their best hope of seeing both Mother and babe through a safe delivery. _

_ Yet Rivendell was at least a day or two away yet. _

_ Swift as mercury, their mounts’ hooves gobbled up the earth beneath them as it galloped across the vast plains. Bella bent over her swollen belly, her hands clutching at it, willing the child to hold on for just a few more hours. _

_ Gandalf kept one hand on the reins and the other on his charge, holding her in place as her awareness faded as pain took over. _

_ Her screams echoed through the valley as the hours drew on and her contractions began to worsen. Still they flew across the plains as swift as their mount could bear them. Gandalf held his staff aloft, murmuring too quietly for her to make out the words through the haze of pain. On they ran, as the sun and moon wheeled in the sky above them and the lights of Varda graced their path.  _

_ By the time the elven patrol met them a day later, with fresh and swifter steeds, their mount was frothing at the mouth and Bella nearly hoarse from screaming. Blood was mingling with the fluid drying on her legs. _

_ The sons of Elrond wasted no time on greetings, they swept Bella from Gandalf’s side. Their horses wheeled and tore off, their hooves tearing great clumps of earth from the ground as they raced off. _

_ Gandalf left his horse in the care of the elven guard and climbed atop the new steed, carrying on behind the twins at a slower pace. The wizard slumped in his saddle, eyes closing in exhaustion and trusting his steed to find its way home. _

_ But by the time Gandalf made his way to the Hidden Valley, it was past midday and Tilion was making his way into the sky as dusk began to settle over the Last Homely House. _

_ The wizard made his way slowly to the Halls of Healing, his footsteps echoing in his ears.  _

_ The piercing wail of a newborn's cry shattered the silence that had fallen. Gandalf felt a smile tugged his lips up into a soft smile as his shoulders relaxed. He waited in the hallway, expecting to be greeted soon by Elrond and his healers, to give his congratulations to his dear friend and meet her child. _

_ But as the minutes drew on and the wailing grew louder, Gandalf’s hands tightened on his staff as sorrow began to fill his heart. He stood a silent vigil in those halls, though his exhaustion wore heavily on his heart. _

_ It wouldn’t be until the next day Elrond approached him, face grim and eyes tight. _

_ “What news of Bella my friend?” Gandalf’s soft inquiry belied his straining sorrow, the fear in his heart that he’d lost yet another mortal friend too soon. _

_ Elrond sighed deeply, strain showing in the tight line of his jaw. “They will both live, the babe was… slightly larger than her body could accommodate. She’s been torn and her hip broken through the labor. The ride on horseback did her no favors, though I understand the necessity.” _

_ Gandalf sagged against his staff, both hands gripping the wood tightly. “But she will live. They both will. This is good.” _

_ Elrond allowed himself a small smile, sharing his relief with his old friend. “Yes, they will. Bella is resting but you should be able to see her now.” _

_ Gandalf followed his friend gladly, stepping lightly into the room and taking in the exhausted mother, resting peacefully against her pillows with a babe in her arms. _

_ Bella’s curly hair was damp with sweat, her eyes shimmering with tears of joy even as her entire body ached with pain. But none of it mattered as she looked down into the chubby cheeks of the beautiful babe in her arms. The soft silken sheets were a balm to her skin. Her hands shook as she took part in the ritual all mothers go through when holding their long expected joy. She counted the tiny pink fingers on each hand. She ran her thumb lovingly against the toes on each fuzzy foot.  _

_ When Gandalf stepped through the doorway, his sorrow melted away and an echo of the Song sang through his heart, seeing just how beautiful Eru’s creation could be. _

_ Bella looked up, beaming at the wizard and turning ever so slightly so Gandalf could see the soft downy curls on the red face bundle. _

_ Brilliant Durin blue eyes opened to peer curiously at the newest addition standing over mother and child, and Gandalf smiled at the little one. _

_ “Gandalf! Would you like to meet my daughter?” _

_ Gandalf sucked in a breath, tears shining in his eyes as he set his staff aside, sitting on the bed beside his friend, careful not to jostle the healing Hobbit. _

_ “I would be honored, my dearest Bella.” _

_ Gently the baby was transferred from her mother’s arms to the wizards. Gandalf stared into the newborns eyes, already charmed by the tiny creature. _

_ “A perfect mix of her parents, my dear. Congratulations. Truly, she’s a wonder.” He gave his friend a soft smile, noting the way her eyes began to droop and she stifled a yawn. “Rest now, Elrond and I will watch over her.” _

_ Bella smiled and ran her hand gently over the baby’s soft curls. _

_ “Her name is Thevetia. My little sapling.” With another soft sigh Bella closed her eyes and sank back into the pillows. Within minutes, her breathing evened out as she fell into a deep, healing sleep. _

_ Gandalf looked down at the tiny bundle in his arms. _

_ “Hello Thevetia, daughter of Bella. Tharkûn, at your service. May the Green Lady give you grace to grow, and may you grow strong with the strength of the Stone Father.” Gandalf stood carefully, and began to wander the halls of the Last Homely House East of the Sea, murmuring all the while stories of the Green Lady and the Stone Father. _

_ *~*~*~* End Flashback *~*~*~* _

After several months recovering from the birth of her daughter, Bella and Gandalf had set out at once towards the Shire. They travelled slowly, allowing time for Bella to rest and recuperate from her injuries. It was slow going for the most part, with their frequent stops. But still, they inched their way towards home, back to the lands of her birth. 

Bella looked down at her slumbering daughter, a smile curving her lips up even as grief shadowed her eyes. It was honestly amusing to her, that a half-Hobbit half-dwarf child would be born in the home of elves.

Thorin would have been a grumbling growling pain about the indignity to the Line of Durin.

Bella’s smile turned strained and she tore her eyes away from her daughter to take in the rolling hills around them.

During her months of traveling with the Company she’d been able to glean plenty of information about their culture, but this… this was still beyond her. If Thorin knew, would he accept their daughter? She knew that all Dwarrow cared about children, and women were deeply respected, she didn’t know their opinions on illegitimate children.

She’d never thought to ask.

Her arms tightened around her baby, clutching Thevetia to her breast.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was the child in her arms and the future she would build for them. Hobbits would judge her without a doubt. She’d be the talk of the Shire for at least ninety days with her return from an ill-gotten adventure. Scorned and reputation beyond repair for being an unmarried woman galavanting off with thirteen very  _ male  _ dwarves unchaperoned.

Coming back with a  _ babe _ at her breast?

Bella Baggins would be a social pariah for the rest of her life, no matter her wealth.

But her child would hold no fault for the actions of her mother.  _ That  _ at least gave Bella comfort. Hobbits were the worst gossip mongers in all of Arda. They had a strict idea of ‘respectability’ and judged their peers without fail for every minute infraction against that code. But each Hobbit was judged on their own actions.

Her daughter would be safe within the boundaries of the Shire. In the end, that’s all that mattered.

She had crossed the Misty Mountains, wandered farther than any others of her kind since their Wandering Days, faced down packs of orcs, played a deadly game of Riddles in the Dark, tricked and traipsed her way through a sickly spider infested forest, spoken with a  _ dragon _ and felt the heat of his flames upon her skin, and battled beside Man and Dwarf and Elf and Beast against an army of Orcs like a story from the First Age.

Belladonna Baggins had overcome too many trials to be cowed by the scorn and words of her relatives and neighbors.

Lifting her chin and steeling her spin, Bella rode forth into the outer edges of the Shire. New eyes spotted the hint of the Dúnedain that patrolled their borders. The Bella before would never have even noticed their presence.

The Bella now caught the eye of a ranger in the shadow of the trees, and gave them a smile and a nod, earning a wide eyed look in return.

Belladonna Baggins was coming home, whether the Shirefolk were ready for her return or not.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked it! I’ll be posting the next chapter right away, and after that I hope to get another up soon but I won’t make any promises.


	6. Memories and Misery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, this chapter was pre-written and I hope everyone likes it, but this one may be re-written in the future as well as I’m not entirely happy with it either. But I do like the premise.

Bungo Baggins and his wife Belladonna Baggins neé Took were both one of the wealthiest couples in the Shire, and the most scandalous. 

Their scandal began long before their marriage. Belladonna was the daughter of the Old Took, twenty-sixth Thain of the Shire, and though he would admit it to no one save his wife, Belladonna was his favorite child. He loved all his children dearly, but his wild and spirited daughter out shown her siblings. She was his ninth child, and his first spirited daughter. 

First to laugh and first to anger, Belladonna let no one tear her down or destroy her adventures for all her life. It was a common enough sight to see her pass by in a blur of colorful skirts and cascading coal black ringlets. She had her mother’s laughing emerald eyes and her father's booming laughter. When she laughed, she roared. Her body shook with the force of her mirth. When she was angry, her eyes darkened to a green so deep, they seemed to match her hair for coal. 

When she was a young girl, many were quick to look the other way when she came back from wrestling with the other young boys and her older brothers. As a tween they began to whisper how she would need to become a proper young lady very soon and cease her ramblings about elves and adventures. Some blamed the Old Took for indulging his daughter too often. Some simply said it was the fae blood in the Took line, enough for an entire generation bottled into one hobbit lass. When the ripped skirts and scraped knees didn’t end, as she came ever nigh to her thirty-third birthday, the disapproving whispers grew to become scathing remarks to her mother and father. 

Her mother Adamanta often endured the thinly veiled vitriol of Laura Baggins neé Grubb over afternoon tea. Her husband was Mungo Baggins, father of one Bungo Baggins.

“Really Adamanta dear,” Laura Baggins would begin, “Surely the Thain must care to preserve the respectability of his position!” Her tone would be gently chiding, as though trying to impart wisdom upon her host. The porcelain tea cup in her hand never so much as sloshing her tea around as she gracefully lifted it to her lips to take a delicate sip.

Adamanta Took, now a mother of twelve, did not so much as blink at the audacity of her guest. As her husband would say, her name belied her nature.

“Gerontius and I are content with all of our children. Belladonna makes both of us very proud, have you seen her latest work?” She didn’t pause to give her guest space to comment, gushing on instead, “These doilies she made are absolutely gorgeous. She’s so very talented for her age, she came up with this design on her own you know. How are your children doing Laura? Wasn’t it just the other day Longo fell into the river chasing that poor Sackville girl?” Green eyes peered curiously over the rim of her tea cup. Said innocent cup concealed the minuscule smirk of victory she allowed herself as she watched the shrews face go red from indignation.

Laura drew in a sharp breath, “My Longo nearly died falling into that river! Honestly he was running around there like a Brandybuck! No care at all for the water! Not like my Bungo. He’s got a right good head on his shoulders, a proper respectable Baggins he’s shaping up to be.” Here she smirked, the glint in her eyes and the insult left unspoken.

And their war of words would continue, trading barbs beneath the guise of caring. As most gossip amongst the Shirefolk was.

Belladonna had no care for hidden words or cleverly disguised insults. With her mother’s defense and her father's blessing, it was to the rest of the Shires consternation that the day after her thirty-third birthday, Belladonna left on her first true adventure accompanied by none other than Gandalf the Grey.

Each and every time she left, her reputation sank further and further into the mud amongst the proper folk of the Shire. Even some of her more distant Took cousins began to look at her sideways. But always she had the support and love of her family. Belladonna would have been content to spend her days wandering, going further and further each trip until she found whatever it was she was looking for.

As chance would have it though, she found it back in the Shire purely on accident on one of her trips back.

She quite literally ran into it. Or rather, him.

Bungo Baggins was a quiet, completely respectable gentlehobbit. His father Mungo and mother Laura (oh yes, the very same) had high hopes for him becoming the next Mayor. Where the Tooks could inherit the Thainship, and the Brandybuck had their position as Master of Buckland, the Baggins could compete only in respectability of virtue. It was their hope that their son Bungo would garner them even more status by becoming the next Mayor of Michel Delving. He was, after all, their utterly respectable firstborn.

Until he fell head over heels in love with the most Tookish Took in the history of the Shire.

When Bungo approached Gerontius and Adamanta about courting their eldest daughter, they didn’t refuse him.

No, instead they laughed. Gerontius’ full belly shook as he laughed himself to tears.

“You? Proper little Baggins that you are? You of all lads want to marry my Belladonna? What does that old codger Mungo have to say about that!?” He erupted into more roaring laughter, as Bungo grew ever more red in the face from embarrassment.

“Sir, with all due respect, I love your daughter. I-it would make me the luckiest and happiest hobbit alive if you would give us your blessing.” Though he spoke quietly, Bungo endeavored to keep his voice even. 

It was Adamanta who turned her fierce gaze on him as her husband calmed himself from his mirth.

“You may be the luckiest and happiest, but if you marry our daughter you’ll break her spirit. Oh maybe not yourself, I don’t doubt your love. But Belladonna is the last person a Baggins’ would marry. We love our daughter, and being caged in Hobbiton with all its propriety would break her spirit. Our daughter is a Took through and through. She doesn’t belong in Hobbiton.”

Gathering his courage, Bungo drew himself to his full height and met her stare full on.

“Begging your pardon madam, but shouldn’t Belladonna decide where she belongs?” His voice never raised above a respectful volume, yet the silence that followed his words only added to their depth.

Gerontius’ studied the lad in front of him carefully. His old eyes taking him in for seemingly the first time. 

Bungo Baggins stood at 3 feet and 6 inches. His copper curls were cropped to just above his ears at a proper length, and his velvet waistcoat was decorated subtly with soft whirls and motifs of leaves. His traveling coat was little worn, and still a bright emerald green.

Overall, despite his wealth, Bungo Baggins was entirely plain and average for a hobbit.

Gerontius nodded to himself and took his wife’s hand into his own larger one.

“You’re right. Belladonna will, in the end, do what she wants. I never stopped her as a child, I certainly won’t stop her as an adult. But I won’t give you my blessing. Not yet.”

Bungo sucked in a breath, blue eyes blown wide with hope. His voice dropped to a choked whisper, overcome by his relief and joy.

“Thain, I will do whatever I must to earn your approval. Belladonna is the most wonderful woman I have ever met. I-I won’t let you down. Please, tell me what I must do and it will be done!” His words were spoken like a fervent prayer to Yavanna herself, and Gerontius found himself softening to the idea of this lad as another son.

“Hobbiton will never suite my daughter. Mungo and Laura would have a conniption if Belladonna moved into their smial. She would be nagged and torn apart everyday she lived there, until she became a shell of her former self. I won’t have that. You want to be her husband? You have to be her sanctuary as well. So this is your task Bungo Baggins: you build my daughter a home worthy of her.” With that, Gerontius’ clapped a hand onto Bungo’s shoulder, and waddled away with his wife. 

Adamanta threw one last look at the stunned Bungo before she turned to her husband and murmured,

“That’s a steep price to ask, even of a Baggins’. Do you think he’ll do it?”

Gerontius patted her hand and smiled widely.

“Without a doubt my lovely wife. Without a doubt.”

And it was indeed within that very same day, that Bungo Baggins withdrew part of his inheritance from the Treasury and hired a crew of builders. By the end of that week, blueprints were drawn up and approved by Bungo. At the end of the month, construction had begun on what would become Bag End.

Mungo and Laura Baggins saw their dreams of further social elevation ripped apart with the announcement that one Belladonna Took would soon become Mrs. Bungo Baggins, barely a week after construction had finished.

The ensuing fight would go down as the largest battle in Shire history since Bullroarer Took fought in the Goblin Wars.

Within two months of the construction of Bag End, Bungo and Belladonna had married and moved into their new home, blissfully ignoring the uproar they caused.

Bungo never did become Mayor. Mungo would gripe on until his dying day it was because of that ‘blasted Took’ his son married. Laura turned her attention to her son Longo, ushering him into his marriage with the proper and respectable Camellia Sackville, though his reputation never grew quite as well amongst the other hobbits.

Belladonna was content to shorten her adventures to nearby explorations. Rarely venturing as far and wide as she had once intended. When asked by her concerned older brothers, she only laughed.

“He’s treating you right isn’t he?” Her oldest brother Isengrim would ask, “As the future Thain, it’s my duty to make sure all is well in the Shire. You know Marmadoc Brandybuck would lend me his Bounders if I needed. He and I are good friends we are. He’d do me a favor right quick.” 

Belladonna laughed and punched her brother in the arm, though not as hard as she would have in her youth. “Oh don’t you worry yourself you lout! Bungo encourages me to go out, he listens to me and writes down all my stories, even the boring ones!” Her smile turned wistful and a faint blush covered her cheeks in a rosey hue, “I just have more of a reason to come home sooner is all.”

So it was that Belladonna ventured out less and less, and Bungo grew a spine more and more everyday to withstand the whispers and glances thrown their way. Mostly by his mother. Laura Baggins never did grow to accept her daughter in law.

Not even with the birth of her first grandchild in 1290 by Shire Reckoning.

While Bungo and Belladonna had been content in their wedded bliss, the birth of their first and only child filled them with such great joy they celebrated her birth for a week among their family and friends. When their daughter was born, Bungo took one look at his baby girl and knew that her spirit would rival her mother’s. 

“Belladonna.” He spoke suddenly, the words erupting from his mouth as he kept his eyes on the tiny baby in his arms.

How could such a small thing even be possible? This tiny beautiful baby, his baby.

His wife looked at him, covered in sweat but beaming in pride.

“Yes love?”

Bungo started but shook his head, smiling fondly at his wife and slowly the words began to pour fourth, gathering speed as more and more spewed out in his nervousness.

“Sorry dearest, not you… I… well I… I know it’s not traditional but then again neither are we. It’s just… she looks so much like me but I can’t help but to see your Tookishness when I look at her. I… I know my family has made your life rather difficult. I don’t want her swept away by the Baggins side alone. Your parents are getting older and it’s becoming more difficult for your family to visit. I never want her to forget who she is, a Baggins and a Took. I… I want to name her Belladonna, so she always remembers where she comes from, and we can always call her Bella for short. I know you don’t like that nickname so we wouldn’t confuse you two. I mean… if… if that’s alright with you. I know we had discussed Briar or Bilbo but I just—“

Belladonna laughed and smiled fondly up at her husband as she held open her arms. Silently with flushed cheeks, Bungo handed her their daughter before crawling into bed beside his wife, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and not quite able to meet her eyes.

But his wife only shook her head.

“Belladonna Baggins, your father here is so silly isn’t he? You and I shall endeavor to straighten him out.” 

So it was that the Bungo and Belladonna scandalized the Shire again, naming their daughter directly after her mother and forgoing all naming traditions that had been expected of them.

Much much later, Bungo would look back with trepidation, and wonder if naming his daughter as he had caused his mother’s disapproval to grow and extend to his little Bella.

“I cannot believe you let that woman ruin you even more Bungo!” His mother screeched at him over afternoon tea, uncaring about propriety in the privacy of her own home. Only her children (save Bungo) lived with her, and they were well used to her screeching by now.

Bungo calmly sipped his tea. “Actually mother, it was my idea to name her after her lovely mother. Do you like this blend? Her sister Mirabella sent it to us from Buckland, they got it from a trader coming through Bree. ‘Orange Spice’ I think she said it was.”

Laura seethed and slammed her cup down onto the table. “You listen to me and you listen to me well Bungo Baggins! You may have tarnished our reputation when you married that harlot! But this is going too far! Breaking traditions!? That wretch is a horrible influence on you!”

Times like these were where Bungo’s newly formed backbone shone through. 

His eyes darkened like the sky shadowed by heavy clouds, Bungo’s voice dropped in pitch and grew quiet.

Where his wife’s fury flared like summer wildfire, Bungo’s lay like frost in the dead of winter. Calm, quiet, and deadly.

“You will not speak about my wife with such vile lies mother. She is the woman I love and if I didn’t marry her, I would have had no other! Belladonna and I have a beautiful daughter, your first grandchild. You may not accept my choices and that’s fine. But you have a choice now. You either learn to keep your vitriol to yourself and well out of earshot of my family and be a grandmother to your granddaughter, or you can keep to your hateful ways and stay out of our lives. I won’t expose my daughter to your particular brand of hatred.” He rose suddenly from his seat, setting down his cup with a quiet clink. “When you feel like being a grandmother, you’re welcome to return to Bag End.”

Leaving his mother gaping like a fish, Bungo turned and strode out the door of his childhood home, and never set foot inside again.

Laura Baggins never returned to Bag End until the spring of 1312 in Shire Reckoning. But not because she finally decided that she desired to get to know her now twenty-two year old granddaughter. Her granddaughter who looked the part of a respectable Baggins. 

Young Bella had her fathers copper and gold ringlets, which she left free more often than not, as her mother did. Her eyes shimmered in emerald and forest greens like her mother’s, but hardened in her wrath like her Grandma Adamanta’s. Her voice was soft like her father’s, but her words were clever and sharp like her mother’s. Quick to anger like her mother, but slow to voice it like her father. She preferred writing to speaking, finding that a quill and parchment facilitated her in expressing her true thoughts and desires. Though she was slow to laughter, and didn’t share her mother or the Old Tooks full body mirth, Bella was always quick to smile. In fact it was rare to see her without one lighting up her face.

Until the winter of 1311 at least.

At first the snow had been beautiful. A young tween, Bella had often found herself on her own growing up. Her cousins Odo and Falco were several years younger than her, and showed no interest in playing with their older cousin. Her Took cousins such as Fortinbras, Adalgrim, and many others were much further away and often more busy with their friends in Tookborough, and she truly only saw them when she and her parents went to visit. Being an only child and with few friends, Bella often contented herself to playing alone or with her Mother. This new snowfall was no exception.

Bella laughed as she ran from her mother, a snowball packed tightly between her hands as she ducked beneath a bush, just barely dodging a flying projectile.

“Mum! That one was going for my head!”

Belladonna laughed, the booming sound echoing through the trees around them.

“Well then Bella-girl! It’s a good thing you ducked!”

With a war cry Bella jumped from behind the bush and lobbed her own snowball at her mother, nailing her in the stomach. 

“Haha! I’ve won! Now you have to make me those sweet cakes you promised Mum!”

Belladonna’s eyes twinkled, “Oh I have to, do I? Well we’ll just see about that!” With her own war cry Belladonna tackles her daughter into a snowdrift, hands finding all the right places to tickle her daughter to tears.

Bungo came lumbering into the scene, intent upon following the sounds of screeching laughter.

“Alas! What’s this!? My lovely wife attacking my daughter!?”

Bella squirmed, trying to throw off her mother’s weight and twist out from beneath the tortuous assault.

“Papa! Papa save me!”

Bungo shook his head, grinning from ear to ear.

“Well, how can I argue with such a plea?” With that, Bungo threw himself into the fight, tickling Belladonna’s sides and thus rolling her off their daughter.

They lingered in the snow laying next to each other, smiling widely at each other as they calmed down from their tickle fight.

“Bungo?” Belladonna murmured as they stood up, wrapping her arm around his waist as he wrapped his around her shoulders, starting their slow walk home with their daughter skipping and smiling ahead of them.

“Yes my love?” He queried. His eyes still dancing with mirth and love.

Belladonna smiled, her eyes ahead of her on their daughter. 

“We did good didn’t we?”

Bungo turned his gaze to follow hers, and settling upon his Bella-girl, he softened and if possible, his smile widened.

“We did. We most certainly did.”

As they wandered back to their smial, they made it back just in time as a winter storm began to blow in. Snow began to fall more heavily as they shut the door behind them. Bella looked curiously out the window, turning to her parents with a frown.

“Papa, it’s getting really bad outside. Do you think we’ll be okay?”

Bungo glanced outside and offered his daughter a warm smile. 

“Don’t worry Bella-girl. I’ll get us a fire going and pull out some extra blankets. We can have a camp out in front of the fire like we used to.”

Bella rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. 

“I’m getting a bit old for sleeping in front of the fire Papa. I’m almost an adult!”

Bungo tousled her hair as he passed, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“You will always be my little baby, even if you live to be 100 years old, I'll never stop seeing you as my little Bella-girl.”

He gave her one last fond smile before wandering deeper into Bag End to drag out their blankets and pillows. Together the little family made a nest of blankets in front of the fire, laughing and telling stories long into the night as the wind howled over the hill.

Come the next morning, the snowstorm was still raging, but they shrugged it off and contented themselves to a peaceful day in their home. 

By the third morning, Belladonna and Bungo grew worried, but forced themselves to carry on as if everything was fine, lest they worry their daughter.

On the fourth day, Belladonna opened their door I only to find that they were very literally buried beneath the snow.

“Bungo,” she pulled her husband off to the side, her eyes flinty with her worry. She shook her head and pursed her lips, starting again. “Bungo I think we need to be careful with our larder. I checked the windows, every one of them is blocked with snow. I tried digging out a bit but there’s just more and more snow. Even if it stops snowing, I don’t know how much better off everyone else will be. It could be days until we can get out, we should prepare for the worst.”

Bungo frowned and looked out one of his front windows, studying the snow piled up there.

“I’m afraid you may be right… we should tell Bella so she doesn’t worry. We’ll cut down to five meals a day instead of seven. Then we can try to dig out again in a few days.”

Belladonna sighed in relief and nodded, kissing his cheek and giving him a soft smile as she wandered off to inform Bella.

But after a week, they still couldn’t dig themselves out of their smial and their worry only grew. With a heavy heart Bungo cut their food down to four meals a day. By now Bella had become aware of just how deeply her parents were worried, and sought to keep their hearts light with insistent questions about happier days. They’d been stuck within their smial for a fortnight now, but she was sure that within the next two days they’d be able to dig themselves out.

On the sixteenth day within their smial, the howling changed. No longer was it the whistling sound of wind rushing over their smial, but the long, lonely sound of a wolf.

The first time the heard it, Bungo shrugged it off. They’d tried digging their way out again and thought nothing of it. 

But then the scratching started. Above their heads and at their doors, the faint sounds of nails scratching against ice and dirt and stone, began to accompany the howls.

The howls now sounded louder, and Belladonna recognized it as the sound a wolf makes, having heard them many times on her travels through the woods during her adventures. She pulled Bungo back from the door and slammed it shut. Quickly she drew the curtains and began moving furniture in front of the doors and windows.

“My dear, what in Yavanna’s name are you doing?” Bungo stared at her in bewilderment, “We need to dig ourselves out. We can’t do that if you barricade us in, needlessly I might add.”

But his wife only shook her head and shoved a chair into his arms, meeting his gaze. Bungo stopped short when he saw the fear in her eyes. Pure, unadulterated fear.

“Those are wolves, Bungo. Wolves who don’t live on this side of the river. Wolves that normally stay near Bree. Wolves in  _ Hobbiton. _ You and I are worried about our food stores,  _ what do you think wolves are doing? _ ”

Bungo grew pale, his fists tightening around the chair in his hands before he gave her a tight nod, eyes growing steely.

“Bella-girl? Be a dear and help your mum and I. We want to be extra careful with wolves around. We ought to be very careful and start staying in the living room. Conserve heat and wood.”

His wife mouthed a quiet thank you before she puttered off, intent on fortifying their home as best she could.

They decided that night to take themselves down to two meals a day, without letting Bella know. They didn’t want her worrying, and with her still waiting to hit her final growth spurt, they dared not reduce their daughters rations anymore.

Bella was none the wiser until it was too late.

After the twenty-fifth day inside their smial, Belladonna and Bungo Baggins had been eating once a day, and had been forced to cut Bella down to three meals a day to try and make their rations stretch.

“Bungo you can’t! You’ve already lost too much weight, we all have!” Belladonna hissed quietly behind the closed doors of Bungo’s study. Her eyes were wild with panic, her hands shaking from cold and hunger.

Bungo caught her hands in his and brought them to his lips, tears in his eyes.

“I have to. I’ll start taking my meal every other day, you keep to your daily meal and we try to keep Bella on three. We have to hope that we can dig ourselves out soon. But I won’t let you sacrifice any more. I told your father I’d be your sanctuary, he meant against my mother, but I mean to try my best against hunger as well. Please Belladonna. Please don’t fight me on this.” His voice broke, “Please my love. Don’t make me watch you suffer even more.”

Belladonna let out a shuddering breath and crashed into his arms, shoulders shaking with silent tears.

“Any day now, the snow will start to thaw and we’ll dig ourselves out. This won’t be longer than a day our two, you’ll see.”

Bungo held her tightly, burying his face in her hair and breathing in deeply.

“You’re right, of course. You’re always right. My beautiful wife…”

They held each other tightly, praying silently for relief, for help.

On the thirty-fourth day Belladonna began to take her meals on every other day as well. Sitting in the study together, Belladonna and Bungo Baggins began to write out their will.

On the thirty-fifth day, they sat their daughter down and explained all that they feared.

Bella stared at her parents with horror and disbelief.

“Y… you can’t be serious. No. No absolutely not! I’ll go down to one meal a day, I won’t let you…. I won’t let you  _ starve  _ yourselves!” Her voice cracked and she took a shuddering breath before she dissolved into tears. She collapsed into her mother’s arms as sobs overtook her.

Bungo put his hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

“Oh Bella-girl…. it’s our job to protect you as best we can. None of us saw this coming. You’re young yet, you haven’t hit your final growth spurt, we can’t take more food from you, not without seriously risking your health.”

But Bella only cried harder into her mother’s shoulder, shaking her head in denial.

“Then let me take two meals a day! Please let me help, let me help too!”

Bungo met his wife’s eyes over Bella’s head and with resignation in his voice, he acquiesced to his daughter’s plea.

“Okay Bella-girl… two meals a day but that’s all we’ll let you drop down to.”

So it was that they tried to stretch their rations even more, but after so long without proper meals, it was on the thirty-ninth day of their isolation that Bungo failed to wake up one morning.

Bella woke up to her mother screaming.

The sight that met her eyes would haunt her forever. 

Belladonna cradled her husband's body in her arms, rocking back and forth in front of the fire as she begged over and over in a broken whisper for him to wake up. To not leave her. To please please just wake up.

Bella stared in shocked silence in front of her before her own keening scream joined her mother’s as she crawled over and begged her Papa to wake up.

After hours of sobbing, the two women carefully wrapped his body up in one of their sheets and moved him into one of the colder rooms in the smial.

Belladonna refused to leave his side, staring blankly at his body, not speaking. Her eyes rimmed with red and her cheeks raw from her tears. Tears that even now we’re still silently slipping down her cheeks. 

Forcing herself to shove her grief aside, Bella tried to get her mother to eat, tried to get her to move from the cold room, to rest just for a few minutes.

But Belladonna would not move. She didn’t react to her daughters words or attempts to make her eat. She just stared in silence at her husband's body.

No matter what Bella did, she could not get her mother to eat or move from the room they put her papa’s body in, no matter how she begged or cried.

After three days of not eating, Belladonna finally met her daughter's eyes. Emerald green met black. Belladonna felt new grief overwhelm her as she reached out a hand and touched her daughters cheek.

“I’m so sorry Bella…. your father,” she choked, before forcing the words out, “your father left a will in his study. In his desk.”

Bella shook her head, heart numb with grief. “We can talk about it later Mum, I’ll go get you some soup okay? You need to eat. We can talk about it later.”

Bella rushed off to head to the kitchen, intent on getting her mother hot soup.

Belladonna called out after her, catching her daughter's hand and tugging her down to hug her tightly. 

“I love you Bella. Never forget that.” She took a shaky breath and released Bella from her grip.

Bella’s eyes softened and she gave her mother a tired, sad smile.

“I love you too Mum.” She kissed her mother’s frozen cheek and dashed off to make a quick hot soup. She wasn’t gone for more than twenty minutes, but when she came back, her mother was laying down beside her father's body, her eyes closed, cheeks pale, and her chest still. The bowl shattered against the floor as Bella dropped to her knees and screamed.

So it was on the forty-second day, three days after her husband's death, Belladonna Baggins went to sleep beside her husband for the last time.

Bella sat alone in Bag End, closing the door to the room her parents' bodies lay, keeping the fire lit only in the living room to conserve heat. Her mind shut down as she went through the motions of the day in silence. She ate two meals a day and kept the fire stoked, but no matter how close she came to the fire, Bella could only feel numb.

On the forty-ninth day, the rangers arrived to drive off the last of the wolves. Bella was not the only one to lose family members to starvation. Some had even been less fortunate and fallen victim to the white wolves that had crossed the frozen Brandywine. The few hobbits that had dared to leave their smial, driven on by desperation to find food. 

Her Uncle Hildigard Took had been one of those left to the tender mercies of the wolves, when he tried to journey to Hobbiton to check on his little sister.

Many had shown their true colors in the following spring. Their grief was genuine of course, she was not bitter enough to doubt that. It had just proved unfortunate that their greed had matched their grief. In that spring alone, she’d had no fewer than ten matrons approach her about how their sons were close in age to her, their sons were grieving with her, their sons, their sons, their sons. Her Uncle Longo, her father's brother, had not so subtly hinted that he wanted her to become his ward, and the inheritance of Bag End should go to his son Otho as the ‘next male heir’. 

Her Aunts, her mother’s sisters, Donnamira and Mirabella, had flown into a righteous rage when news had finally reached Tookland of all that was happening around their niece. It was the Tools, led by her Uncle and Thain Isumbras, that put a stop to the carrion crows that had been her neighbors and family. 

But the worst had been her grandmother Laura, a woman she had seldom ever seen save in passing at the market, and only heard of from her father in the rare story or two. The woman had marched into the home, tears in her eyes and her black mourning gown in pristine condition, and demanded that Bella allow her and Longo’s family to move into Bag End to take over the care of Bag End and see to her education as a respectable Baggins. Her Aunts Donna and Mira had torn into her as well before kicking her out.

Aunt Donna and her husband Uncle Hugo moved in with her to put a stop to the debates about her guardianship. They had no children, so took it upon themselves to safeguard her. Uncle Hugo turned Uncle Longo away at every turn, making no effort to invite him to Afternoon Tea. Aunt Donnamira was not as subtle as her husband, rather she preferred to baldly tell the heckling matrons where they could shove their grasping greedy paws.

They had stayed with her in Bag End for nigh on twelve years. When Bella had finally reached her majority at three-and-thirty years, they held her party at the Great Smials in Tookborough. Denying all and sundry the chance to come near Bag End. The Baggins’ had been furious at the slight. Bella had wept, overcome and humbled for all the care her family had given her.

And so it was that these memories, good and bad, came crashing through Bella’s mind as she stared at the figure standing in the doorway of Bag End. It was these thoughts that Bella struggled to hold back, standing in the garden of her home, the home her father built for her mother, the home her parents lived and died in, holding her five month old baby in her arms, and stared into the smug, snide face of one Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, with her cousin Otho standing behind her looking equally smug and nervous.

Bella’s voice was quiet as the light began to flicker and die in her eyes.

“What do you mean Bag End is yours?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all have enjoyed this one my lovelies! Like I said, I do like the ideas I’ve conveyed here, just maybe not in love with how I’ve conveyed them. But I hope you lot enjoy this!


	7. An Unexpected Homecoming

In the Great Smials of Tooksborough chaos reigned. The endless halls were filled with uproarious chatter as relations attempted to have their very loud, very opinionated opinions heard over any others. Most notably among the infamous Took clan, was the presence of the Shire’s Thain, who was in fact, one of Bella’s first cousins. After the deaths of her Grandfather Gerontius, her Uncles Isengrim and Isumbras, her cousin Fortinbras had inherited the Thainship. Much to Bella’s current consternation, she and Fortinbras have never been particularly close, what with her living in Hobbiton as a Baggins away from her mother's relations. 

Which explained why her Took relations were in an uproar shouting over one another as Fortinbras laid his head in his hands, elbows on the table in a way that Grandmother Adamanta would have boxed his ears for if she had still been alive.

As it was, Aunties Donnamira and Mirabella each took the time to cuff the back of his head in reprimand, not even faltering as they gave him a dual tongue lashing. In fact, the last of the Old Tooks children had converged once more on the Great Smials in equal parts to scold their nephew - _ “Really Fortinbras! Have you no family loyalty left in you?! When did appeasing those Hobbiton folks become greater than writing off your cousin as dead?! And to let _ ** _Lobelia _ ** _ of all hobbits get her clutches on Bag End! That was my _ ** _sister’s_ ** _ home! Not her husband’s!” _ \- as much as they had come to chide Bella - _ “Oh you are more of a Took than a Baggins, I’ll give you that! But even a Took should have enough sense to get their estate in order _ ** _before _ ** _ they leave on an adventure dearie!” _\- and so on and so forth the very elderly but no less fierce children of the Old Took scolded their younger relations like fauntlings coming home covered in muck and tracking it over their great grandmothers favorite rug.

Bella and Fortinbras exchanged a long suffering look as their Aunt Mirabella briefly turned her barbed tongue on scolding her older brother Isembold for falling asleep in one of the various armchairs scattered throughout the Great Smial. Bella watched the ensuing lecture from the corner of her eye even as she turned to face her cousin Fortinbras more fully. Really, Auntie Mira should be a bit nicer to Uncle Isembold. The man had just had his 100th birthday party after all, even their eldest brothers hadn’t made it to such an auspicious age!

Nevertheless, Bella turned her full attention onto the current Thain, unable to suppress her scowl as she hefted Thevetia closer to her breast, taking a bit of petty delight in reminding the stubborn fool that he had, essentially, made his cousin and her _ newborn fauntling _homeless.

Fortinbras sighed, once more running his fingers through his curly chestnut hair, scrubbing at his eyes. “Cousin Bella, you _ must _ know how difficult of a position I was in! I’ve been Thain only for a few years yet, and despite what our Aunties think, I _ do _ have to treat everyone fairly. Grandfather, Uncle Isengrim, _ and my father _ made no secret of their favoring our family! It’s upset the Mayor of Michel Delving enough for him to lord it over my head every time we speak! The law is there, you were gone over the specified ‘year and a day’, you had no Will, and as odious as those Sackville-Baggins’ may be, they are _ technically _ your closest relations. I could have perhaps pushed for a review of your Will to delay the proceedings but you _ didn’t have one!” _

Bella bit her lip, chewing on it as she searched her cousin's face. Despite her misgivings, Bella did have to concede that this whole mess was, at heart, mostly her own damn fault.

“I… I suppose I see your point Fort… I hadn’t expected to have my own heir, and well, I was still trying to figure out who to name my heir and I never got around to laying out the groundwork for my Will… but what I don’t understand is how it went to Lobelia and Otho! Bag End wasn’t my _ father’s _property, he built it for my mother and it should have been in her name!”

Fortinbras’ face drew into a deepest scowl, an unfamiliar and uncanny look on the otherwise gentile and easy going Hobbit. “It was, when they were alive. When their estate was executed and it passed to you, the Took claim to it was all but lost. You are family Cousin, but to the Shire and to our Laws, you are still a _ Baggins _first. Believe you me cousin, I tried that route. I had hoped to put Ferumbras in Bag End until your return, to give him a break from the Great Smials.” His cherubic face grew pained with grief and guilt as he gazed at Bella, his voice low and broken with emotion, “I knew you’d come back Cousin, I didn’t doubt you. But as Thain my hands were tied.”

Bella felt her heartbreak anew as her last shreds of hope were ripped from her. Tears filled her eyes as she clutched Thevetia to her bosom . Her throat was tight with her own immeasurable grief. “Oh Fort, I know you did. Auntie Mira and Auntie Donna don’t mean to say you didn’t I’m sure.”

Fortinbras gave a watery smile as he reached across the gap between them, putting a hand on Bella’s arm. “I appreciate your faith in me Cousin. It’s not all bad news you know. When I realized I couldn’t delay the auction I sent runners out to the rest of our uncles and aunts. Between the lot of us rallying together, we did manage to get a few of your things from the auctioneer we thought you might like. I believe Auntie Mira has them at her Smial over in Buckland.”

As if summoned, the eighty-two year old firecracker turned the full force of her fiercest stare on her niece and nephew. “What’s this I’ve got now?”

Fortinbras flinched while Bella only chuckled, bouncing her knee as Thevetia began to squirm in her lap, trying to keep the fauntling entertained. “Fort says you managed to rescue some of my things Auntie.”

The shadows lifted from her aged face, and Mirabella smiled kindly, moving over to coo at the babe in Bella’s lap. Her gnarled hands were gentle as she touched the faunts head of soft downy curls. “Yes that’s right dearie. Don’t you worry one whit, you’ll be coming with Gorbadoc and I until we find you your own smial, or whatever you decide to do. Buckland will be a nice change of pace for you. Donna was gonna keep you here with her in this Great Smial, but well, she and Hugo got you for a few years. I figure I’m about due some time with my niece and great-niece!”

While it was nowhere _ near _the most polite offer of aid or hospitality that Bella had ever received, it was by far more heartwarming than any polite invitation could ever have been. Though Brandyhall was much the same as the Great Smial of Tooksborough, it was still better than having no place at all.

It of course went unacknowledged that when Auntie Mirabella _ asked _ you something, she was really _ telling _you to do it. Woe to any who so much as spoke a peep against her. 

Bella gave a tremulous sigh, trying to fight back the burning in her eyes as she reached out and grasped her Aunt's hand tightly. “Thank you Auntie, I… I don’t know what to say!”

Mirabella snorted, but stepped forward to envelope her niece in a tight, comforting embrace. Her gnarled hand ran over Bella’s smooth curls in a soft soothing motion, though her voice was still gruff. “Don’t say anything other than ‘yes Auntie’ dearie.”

Bella choked out a wet laugh and burrowed deeper into her aunts arms, desperately wishing for her mother’s, but more than grateful to have her mother’s-sister. “ ‘Yes Auntie’ ”

Still the thoughts lingered in Bella’s mind. Would this be her doom? Raising her half-dwarven child away from all stone and gems that would be half her birthright? Raising her sapling in only the ways of her mother’s people? 

Thoughts of Rivendell, of a boy with a destiny too large for one so young, and a mother widowed before the brilliance of her vows could even begin to dim.

Would Bella share a similar fate to that young woman, but in a land even further from Thevetia’s dwarven kin? 

Bella closed her eyes and tightened her arm around her Auntie’s waist, willing the images of a lonely woman and the towering mountain from her mind. The glittering of tears upon pale cheeks, and the shimmering of gems set upon gleaming green halls. The echoing sorrow of a woman’s wail singing the Lay of Luthien, and deep, dark voices like rolling thunder mourning for a home long forsaken but never forgotten.

Bella’s breath hitched and her daughter cooed, and the images lingered in the back of her mind, unable to be fully forgotten.

Mirabella smiled and kept her grip on her niece, oblivious to the torment the younger hobittess was going through.

After all, what hope had they who had never left, of understanding the ways and woes of the wider world beyond the narrow borders of the Shire? This was a grief too profound to be fully understood by any of Bella’s kin, no matter how well meaning they were. Mirabella contented herself with easing her nieces grief, as little as she could, and held her just as tightly as she would any of her children.

Though she did look up briefly to glare at Fortinbras with a very clear message of _ ‘why can’t you be this good to your dear old Auntie and just do everything I say?’ _

Fortinbras, twenty-ninth Thain of the Shire, groaned and gave up all pretense, slamming his head onto the table with a muffled curse.

Behind him, Isengar, Isembard, and Isembold were uncomfortably reminded of their mother Adamanta’s sway over their father. If Mirabella had that same sway over Gorbadoc, then it wouldn’t surprise them if the Master of Buckland answered to his wife in a similar way that their father had answered to _ his _wife.The three brothers silently came to the understanding of getting their nephew a very nice vintage wine for their next birthdays. Standing up to the full force of Mirabella Brandybuck was no mere feat. 

If not for Fortinbras holding his own against Mirabella, the old hobittess would likely control two thirds of the Shire from the shadows.

Yes, they decided, Fortinbras was _ definitely _getting the best vintage they had the next chance they got.

  
  


*~*~*~*

When Kili finally managed to pack his supplies, he had lingered for many days after the conversation with his brother. He’d had to sneak past Gloín and a handful of Dain’s dwarrow who guarded the treasury. He’d taken three days to linger in the shadows, watching the dwarrow as they changed shifts, learning their pattern before he was confident he could sneak in and out without being caught. He’d stolen bags of coins from a forgotten corner, one as yet untouched by the meticulous counting of Gloín.

After he’d managed to steal (borrow! Technically one fourteenth was his anyway sooo….) the coins, he’d engaged in an even more difficult task.

Sneaking past Bombur.

All rations and foodstuffs were being guarded by Bombur and Bifur and yet _ more _of Dain’s dwarrow. With the supplies from the Iron Hills and winter fast approaching, rations were kept under careful watch and the meals prepared for the dwarrow of Erebor measured down to the last grain of salt.

Not to mention Bombur was particularly watchful over his ingredients. Missing ingredients meant less hearty meals, or even worse, less _ meals _themselves. Bombur’s supply closet was his last stop, and Kili only allowed himself one chance. From the kitchen Kili would need to head directly out of the mountain. From Erebor Kili had hoped to nick a small fishing boat from the men still lingering at the edge of the lake, then once more through Mirkwood and over the Misty Mountains. He’d retrace their steps as much as he could, hunting along the way to stretch his supplies. One dwarrow was not as difficult to feed as thirteen and a hobbit after all.

Kili shook his head, bringing himself back to the present as he crept quietly into the camp of men, eyes darting back and forth before sneaking into the next shadow that promised safety.

He had just managed to make it to the edge of the lake, making his way to the nearest skiff he saw, when a hand clamped over his mouth from behind and _ pulled. _

Kili let out a muffled shriek, his hand going to one of the daggers at his side only for the hand to let go, and a forceful shove on his shoulder had him spinning around, splashing in the wake of the waves from the water.

Kili raised the knife, prepared to throw it into his attacker only to stop short at the sight in front of him. Dread curled in his gut as he stared in disbelief at the figures in front of him. Yet when he spoke, anger and determination concealed his trepidation.

“You cannot stop me from finding her!”

A lazy drawl spoke without inflection.

“No, I don’t suppose we could. Yer too thick headed to be stopped if’n yer not wantin’ to be.”

Another more cheerful voice piped in. 

“Luckily for you and for our burglar, we’ve no intention of stopping ya.”

The taller of the two strutted past the dumbfounded prince and tossed in two heavy packs into the skiff, grabbing Kili’s and tossing it in as well. “We’ll be comin’ with ya of course.”

Kili gaped at the two dwarrow in front of him, before grinning and launching himself at them, knocking their foreheads together grinning. “Thank you! Thank you both!”

Nori raised a braided brow at the younger dwarfs enthusiastic reply even as Bofur chuckled and meandered over to help Nori push the boat into the water more fully. “I’ll take yer thanks, and give you a tip: leave the sneakin’ and stealin’ to me lad, yer frightfully bad at it.”

Kili flushed in embarrassment before shaking it off, climbing into the boat with the others carefully.

“Well with you here, I won’t need to anymore! But what about your brothers?”

Bofur smiled, though there was a touch of grief in his gaze. “Bombur gave me extra rations, whatever he could spare.”

Nori frowned, gazing over the water though his face and eyes remained guarded. The notorious thief had never been particularly close to Kili. In fact, Kili could only remember the thief spending time away from his family with Bofur and Bella. Occasionally Dwalin too, but that was mostly to annoy or argue with him so that didn’t count. Kili knew that the two dwarrow in front of him had been friends before the quest, though how they met in Ered Luin was a mystery to him.

But Nori and Bella… those two he knew had grown close over the course of the quest. He’d often spied them tossing rocks at various targets in the beginning of the quest. Actually, Nori had been the second dwarf to approach her in those early days, after Bofur had taken a shine to her.

What he should have known however, if he had been more observant, was how often the two _ hadn’t _been in camp.

What Kili had no way of knowing was the quiet but deep friendship Nori and Bella had formed over hours of trading tales of stolen spoils. Mushrooms from the field and pies from window sills, traded gladly for precious gold for Dori’s first teapot and trivial information that meant more than gems to the right people. 

The shared grief of parents gone before their children were ready and two older brothers struggling to make sure their baby sibling had the chance they never would, even as dreams of a family of her own faded before her eyes for no other reason than she was different from her age mates.

Thick as thieves indeed…

Nori tucked the thoughts of his missing friend into a corner of his mind, into the same corner where Dori’s disappointment and his parents death lingered, forgotten until he had time and privacy to dwell on them again.

He shot a confident smirk at the young prince, picking up the oars and dipping them silently into the water, beginning their journey across the Long Lake.

“Dori will look after Ori, and Ori won’t let Dori fuss too much. Now, keep yer mouth shut. We don’t want anyone to hear us, and water carries talkin’ further than you’d think.”

They lapsed into silence, the Lonely Mountain standing in a silent vigil as three dwarrow set out on their self appointed quest. 

Beneath the mountain, in the Healing Halls of Erebor, the king’s health began to improve, though he lingered in a deep sleep.

And from the shadows, whispers began to flow through the dark halls of Erebor and the tendril of Smaug’s curse latched onto newer and more promising victims.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone!
> 
> So a couple of things.
> 
> 1\. I did a TON of research into Bilbo’s family tree to try and figure out which of his uncles and aunts were still around by the time he came back from his journey and sadly, only 5/12 children remained from the Old Took’s family. Which is why Fortinbras is the Thain upon Bella’s return. Fortinbras replaced his father Isumbras in 1339. Bilbo returns to the Shire in 1342 S.R., which means that Fortinbras has only been Thain for 3 years, and Bella’s disappearance would have been most likely, his first ‘test’ as Thain. And I can’t see Isumbras and Isengrim (the previous two Thains and Bella’s uncles) NOT being nepotistic as both were incredibly old when they took over. 
> 
> 2\. If you didn’t catch it, the woman mentioned would be Gilraen, Aragorn’s mother. I’ve done the conversion of the timeline into S.R. rather than T.A, and Aragorn would be 11years old when Bilbo entered Rivendell, and Gilraen would have been widowed after only 4 years of marriage, when Aragorn was 2 years old. In the cannon lore I’ve found, Aragorn remains in Rivendell until he’s 20 years old, and Gilraen leaves a few years later to settle down with her people. I like the thought of Bella meeting Gilraen and Aragorn, learning a bit about them and the Rangers, and the idea of becoming a version of Gilraen herself. Alone with a child whose destiny is bound to be bigger than what their mother can prepare them for.
> 
> 3\. Nori and Bofur... I admit, of all the dwarrow on the journey, these two are actually the ones I love fem!Bilbo to be paired with more than Thorin. That’s not to say I dislike Thorin and Bella together, I still love them. But Nori and Bofur... there’s just so much there to explore so I’m going to delve into my creative side with their friendship. Because if they can’t be her lovers, they have to be her friends and family. 
> 
> 4\. Kili was never going to make this journey on his own. He’s Kili. WHEN they make it to the Shire... is still up for debate.


	8. A Difficult Journey for All

Kili hated Mirkwood. He hated the dark and gloomy trees towering above and pressing down with heavy boughs and stagnant air. Those who dwelled in the fallen forest held little more love from him. All except Tauriel. Tauriel, whose hair shone like polished red jasper, her eyes like glimmering emeralds and her skin of pale moonstone. Tauriel alone amongst the inhabitants of the Mirkwood he held any love for in his heart. Still, he walked through the lighter woods with his bow in his hand and his quiver at the ready.

Already the Wood elves had begun to clear out the infection of their forest and a difference could be seen.

The light from the sun trickled sluggishly through the dense canopy of the dull and tarnished leaves. The drooping and grasping branches of the trees did not seem to press quite so closely on them as they had previously. On top of that, the many eyes that had watched them from the shadows of the trees were gone, leaving only the ominous whistling of the wind through the trees and the unnatural silence that settled over the land like a web.

With how well this trip through the forest was going compared to the last time, it was, perhaps to their shame and embarrassment, a complete surprise when they found themselves surrounded by elves with arrows pointed at their hearts. 

The three dwarves settled up back to back as quickly as they could, trying to conceal their shock as they turned to face the newcomers.

Kili had his bow in hand, the other reaching back and fingering the fletching of his arrows. He scanned the elves and grudgingly admitted to himself that he would never be able to draw and fire the arrow before the elves let loose their own.

Bofur had his mattock in his hands, raised over his shoulder with the bludgeoning end facing towards the elves. His lucky hat was slipping slightly off his head but he made no move to fix it, not yet.

Nori, as he was wont to, had two knives in his hands, ready to be thrown into the throats or eyes of any elves. If he was fast enough, he’d be able to fire off at least two or three more before the elves took him down.

They stood in silence, watching the elves watch them. When none seemed eager to step forth and speak, Kili slowly, carefully, moved his hand from his quiver, the other lowering his bow to the ground. He kept both hands in the air when his bow was set upon the stone of the Path. His face was drawn into a tight, fierce stare. He kept his eyes locked with the elves as he ordered Bofur and Nori with all the weight and command he rarely used as a Prince of Erebor.

“Put your weapons down.” His eyes cut only briefly to the side, to see his companions hesitate before ultimately obeying his command. His heart gave a painful lurch as his stomach both warmed and grew heavy like molten lead. He hated the weight of his station, but the faith his companions, his  _ friends  _ had in him warmed even the darkest parts of his soul where he felt Thorin and Fili’s shadows linger. Where his insecurities as the  _ younger, more naive  _ prince lay buried as deeply as any mine of Khazad-Dum.

To the elves, he spoke simply. “We only mean to cross through the Greenwood. We hope to find our companion, Belladonna Baggins. Or news of her.”

One of the elves seemed to start at the name, lowering their bow ever so slightly. “We have heard she was banished upon pain of death by your king. Is this not the case?”

Kili winced, unable to stop his slight flinch at the mention of her doom. “It is true… it is also true that any who would seek after her, share her fate. It is the hope of my brother and I, that once our Uncle wakes he’ll be convinced to rescind the banishment.” Kili gives the elves a cheeky grin, his dark eyes twinkling as he slowly lowers his arms to his sides as the elves lower their bows. “Especially when he finds he’s banished his youngest nephew. No doubt he’ll rescind it before my mother hears of this!”

One of the elves in front of Nori, behind Kili, snorts and puts away their arrow. Their bow is slung carefully over their back and the others follow suit. The new elf strides forward, dark hazel eyes hard as flint and chesnut hair tied back with two simple braids trailing from their temples down. The rest of their fine hair is left free.

“We will escort you and your companions to our halls, and await the return of our commander. No doubt they will judge the truth of your words.”

Kili perked up, his smile growing. “Is your commander Tauriel?”

The elves exchanged a glance, murmuring quickly in some form of elvish before their seeming leader turned back to them, his eyes pinched and his mouth drawn together in a firm line. “Our commander is Prince Legolas Thranduilion. You will speak to either him or our King, his father.”

Kili felt his smile waver but nodded sagely, gesturing for the elves to lead the way to the Elvenking’s Halls. “May we know your name, or shall we call you Elf-with-Hibonite-hair?”

The elf snorted again as the others stifled quiet chuckles. “You may call me Ruimben.” With that, the elves said no more, silently leaping into the trees or otherwise fading in and out of their surroundings.

Kili, Bofur, and Nori were more than happy to let the silence settle around them, finding the antics of the elves to fade in and out of their surroundings seemingly at will, trying on even Nori’s nerves of mithril. Still, Kili was optimistic.

Hopefully they’d get  _ rooms  _ this time around instead of cells.

*~*~*~*

Bella closed her eyes with a deep and weary sigh, resting her head against the doorframe, her pack on her shoulders and Sting on her hip. She ran a trembling finger over her daughter's downy head, bending to give her a gentle kiss. Her dark eyes flicked up to meet her cousin Rorimac and his wife Menegilda. Their own children were young faunts yet, and Rorimac Brandybuck was one of the cousins closer to Bella in age, though they’d spent less time together than even she and Fortinbras in their youth. Still, Rorimac was twelve years her junior but his youngest son Merimac had been born just a few weeks before her Thevetia.

Perhaps, if Time was kind to her daughter in a way it had never been to Bella, Thevetia would get to know her cousins.

Bella offered a tired smile, the bags under her eyes like dusky bruises. “Thank you Rorimac, Menegilda. I should only be gone a few days, just to the edge of the Shire and back. You’re sure you’ll be okay to watch her?”

Menegilda smiled, tucking the faunt securely onto her hip, her own newborn on her other hip and her toddling Saradoc hanging off her skirts. “Of course! We’ll be just fine watching this little one!”

Rorimac eyed his cousin carefully before giving her a small nod, putting a hand on Bella’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “I’m sure, Bella. Take care of your business, Thevetia will be well until you come back.”

Bella gave a small sigh, her lips turning up just slightly in the corner as she nodded her acceptance. She gave her daughter one last kiss on her head, closing her eyes briefly.

When she pulled back, the steel in her eyes and the set of her shoulders unsettled her cousins, though they made every effort to conceal it.

This was a new Bella, one they didn’t fully know yet. 

Bella Baggins, daughter of Bungo Baggins had always been firm, but gentle.

This hobittess before them was undoubtedly the daughter of Belladonna Took, though her gaze carried a weight that even her mother had never managed. Her spine and the set of her shoulders was taller, prouder, than Belladonna had ever managed. Where her mother had been proud and commanded the attention of others, Bella herself commanded the  _ respect  _ of those caught in the weight of her aura. Her eyes hardened like stone as she turned and marched away from Brandyhall, out into the pale light of dawn, her mithril shirt gleaming where the new rays of sunlight caught the chains. Rorimac and Menegilda watched wearily as Bella took off towards the North, hoping to skirt around the edges of the Old Forest.

The two hobbits turned and wandered back into the safety of Brandyhall, the faunts gathered between them like sheep.

Creating a gentle hill, Bella steeled herself as she began to walk along the hedge that bordered the Old Forest. Even from where she stood, she could feel the darkness of the Wood pressing down on her. It brought back dark memories of starvation and spiders and silken webs with dwarves trapped like flies.

She shuddered and took one more step away from the hedge, eager to be done with her task as soon as possible. She shouldered on, trying to ignore the foreboding forest on her right.

Thankfully Bella only had to walk along the hedge for an hour or so before she came to the road connecting Bree to the Shire. Eagerly she set upon the path, leaving the darkness of the forest to linger behind her. She didn’t need to head all the way to Bree, but she held onto hope that she would find her quarry soon enough, if she was patient and attentive at least.

So Bella hummed a tune beneath her breath, the melody reminding her of deep echoing voices that rang through her hobbit hole deep in the night. But the words… the words  _ would  _ be hers. So she walked, and sang under her breath, composing the lyrics to her sorrowful song even as she travelled ever onwards.

She rested several miles off the road under a copse of trees distinctly  _ not  _ related to the Old Forest. With little effort she lit her campfire, took out her pipe, and rested against the bark of the tree, puffing in her pipe as she gazed up into the night sky.

Unsurprisingly, the ranger she’d seen on her way into the Shire upon her return settled against the tree across from her not an hour after she’d settled down. 

Silently, the ranger took out his own pipe and Bella, ever a courteous Hobbit, tossed him her bag of Old Toby.

The ranger caught it deftly, giving her a nod of thanks as he settled himself against the tree, filling his pipe and lighting it carefully.

They sat and watched the stars wheel above their heads, their rings of smoke swirling up above their heads, striving to join the stars in the slow, ethereal dance.

At last, when they had contemplated the stars in companionable solitude, he spoke to her. Despite the light of the campfire, Bella could not make out his features through the deep night.

“Why have you sought me out, Mistress Hobbit?”

Bella felt a smile tug at her lips as she carefully tapped the ash from her pipe, packing it away. Her lips tasted sweet from the smoke and she licked them carefully, enjoying the lingering flavor of her favorite pipe weed.

“How do you know  _ I  _ have sought  _ anyone  _ out, let alone you, Master Ranger?”

The Man let out a low chuckle, his head bent over his pipe.

“You have been searching, as you’ve wandered from your homeland. You also took notice of my fellows and I when you rode into the Shire in the company of the Grey One.”

Bella hummed thoughtfully, searching the sky for the familiar constellation, a hand resting upon her belly.

“Perhaps you are right. Though it was not  _ you  _ I sought, but rather one of your ilk.”

The Man’s shoulders stiffened, and dark eyes gazed at her for a long while beneath the shadows of his hood.

“My ilk, Mistress Hobbit?” His voice was quiet, weary.

Bella snorted, turning to look at him fully as she resettled herself closer to the fire.

_ “An ngell nîn, mellon nin, gi nathlam hí. Tolo anin naur, peditham hi sui vellyn?” _

The words of the elvish tongue rolled from her lips like water from a seamless stream, liquid in a way few words could ever be.

The Ranger went still, before a small smile graced his face and he stood, stepping into the light of the fire and taking a seat closer to her now. She could see his tan face and dark hair now as he let his hood fall back.

Bella was mildly taken aback to realize the face peering at her was younger than she had anticipated.

_ “Mae g’ovannen,  _ Mistress. I did not know any of the Shirefolk spoke the Elvish Tongue.”

Bella smiled sadly, distant sorrow filling her eyes as she stared into the flickering flames. “Then you never met my mother or grandfather before they passed. I am the last of those who speak it. And mine is rusty and clumsy at best.”

The Ranger nodded, and warmed his hands by the fire as they each took a moment to collect their thoughts. “Forgive me, Mistress Hobbit. Among the Breefolk I am known as Tracker.”

Bella nodded, her eyes narrowing carefully, taking in his worn travel leathers. “And among the rest of the Dúnedain?”

Tracker smiled, a merry twinkle in his dark eyes. “Halbarac, my lady. May I know your name as well, Mistress?”

Bella snorted and looked back into the fire, her own smile tugging her lips up. “Bella Baggins. I would beg a boon from you. Though, not one without due repayment.”

Halbarad tilted his head, his face guarded, but listening. “I can make you no promises.”

Bella nodded and leaned back slightly, grabbing a stick and drawing a crude map in the dirt between them. “On my travels I came across a troll hoard. I’ve returned from my adventure to find my home taken and my previous wealth divided amongst my relatives. In their old cave there is a rune upon the floor that marks the spot of a cache of gold. I’d like you to retrieve it for me.”

The Ranger looked at her, eyebrows raised in surprise and brief bewilderment. “I confess Lady, this is not what I expected of you. Nor do I see how you will repay me, if your wealth is divided and you beg me retrieve a small pittance.”

Bella frowned and looked away from him, into the darkened trees. “I would use the gold squirreled away to build a new home for myself and my young daughter. I cannot leave her long enough to go myself, nor do I dare to take her with me.” She sighed and rubbed at her temples, her eyes squeezed shut as she willed her grief away. “I find that the Shire is like a dress from my youth. It is an old comfort, but one that I’ve outgrown. I’d build it further from the Shire Proper, but within our borders. For your aid, I’d open my home to the Dúnedain as a way station. Meals and board and warm beds, when they grow weary.”

Halabard’s bewilderment gave way to shock and curiosity. “You would welcome your home to Men? The Rangers are not looked upon kindly, many have forgotten who we are.”

Bella nodded, her voice soft and sad and she could not meet his eyes. “Many have. But not all. Some needed only a reminder. The Men of the North tarry to protect the Shire, and all the lands surrounding, I would open my home to these Men.” She turned and gave him a small smile, though the sadness could never fade from her eyes fully. “I have met your Lady Gilraen, and I have heard her tales. You and your kin take rest with no home to call your own until the crownless again are King. In the meanwhile, I would give you one. If only you’ll help me make it possible.”

Halabard studied the hobbit in front of him, his mind working furiously as he went through the fastest route to the troll hoard. At last, he nodded and offered a small smile to the Hobbit at his side. “Very well, Lady Baggins. I shall speak with my men. Where shall I deliver your treasure?”

Bella smiled, and for the first time it reached her eyes, lighting the emerald depths with a sparkle rarely seen in recent days. “You can find me in Brandy Hall in the West Farthing. I would make my home across the East Road, away from the Old Forest and the Barrow Downs. It should be enough away for your men to feel at ease skulking about.”

Halabard laughed and stood, beginning to make his way back into the wilds only to be stopped as a small hand grabbed his wrist before he could move too far away. Bella merely shook her head and clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Sit, rest. We can split the watch. I’ll keep first watch. You do me a great service, the least I can do for you right now is allow you a few hours of rest.” She chucked her spare blanket at him, setting her back to the fire as she peered into the darkness of the night before her companion could accurately respond.

Halabard watched the small, fierce hobbit before settling down and closing his eyes, enjoying his first chance to rest since he’d left the bulk of his people several months ago. In the morning he’d send word to his Kin to have a runner sent to Rivendell and assess the truth of the Hobbits words. And he’d also set out to find this troll hoard.

As far as loathsome tasks he faced as one of the Rangers went, this was by far the most interesting.

*~*~*~*

Thranduil looked down from on high, the supple leather of his boots flickered in the light of the burning torches in his throne room, and the silver and grey fabric flowed over the wood and antler arms of his carven throne like water from the falls.The rings upon his fingers glimmered with the brilliance of emeralds and rubies beset with silver. His clear blue eyes surveyed the three dwarves before him and he shifted in his throne, uncrossing his legs from his casual poise, like a snake uncoiling before striking their prey. The red holly berries in his woven crown shone brightly. 

Long he sat, watching them in stoic silence, gripping the dark wood staff in his right hand.

At last, when the dwarves began to shift in discomfort, his words rolled down to them like the sigh of leaves falling to the ground in the heart of autumn. “Why have you come yet again to my Wood?” 

Kili stepped forward, his head tilted proudly, his chin held high. “We come searching for news of our companion, Bella Baggins the Hobbit. We heard no news of her from the battlefield, and… and my King has yet to wake, so his previous orders still stand and no dwarrow may seek for her. I had… I had hoped the Elves of Mi— Greenwood would have news of her.”

The Elvenking's eyes narrowed as he peered down at the young dwarf in standing before him. Clear blue eyes met crystalline blue and a smirk tugged at the edges of the king's lips. His words were like honey covered thorns, “You are of the line of Durin. The younger Prince, nephew of Thorin the Mad.”

Kili bit his tongue, his cheeks going red as his hands fisted at his sides as he tried to control his ire. Though he was the more easy going of his family, he did not lack for temper.

“I am.” He said simply. Not trusting himself with anything else.

Hair so fair as to be silver, swayed as Thranduil tilted his head to the side, falling gracefully over his shoulder. “Yet did you not say your King and Uncle forbid you to seek her out? What purpose then, do you have for the halfling?”

It was Bofur, beside him who stepped forward, his usually cheerful face set into a deep scowl. “I’d kindly ask you not to call her that! She is half of  _ nothing! _ She is a  _ hobbit.” _

Thranduil’s eyes snapped to him, though his head barely moved. Bofur struggled not to fidget under the weight of that gaze, feeling as though his very soul was being laid bare. After a long moment, Thranduil turned his gaze back to Kili, the line of his shoulders easing as he reclined in his throne, lounging across the twisted trees that decorated it.

“I sent news to your company, ere I left with my people. It seems my words never reached you. A pity.”

Kili felt his heart burst with joy and hope, his scowl disappearing as he took a step forward heedless to the shifting of the guard behind him as he grinned up at the monarch. “Then you have seen her?! Is she alive? Is she well?! Has she journeyed back to her homeland? We have not heard your words but we would hear them now!”

Thranduil gazed at him for a long while, tipping his head just slightly. “I have. She stayed in my halls. Why has it taken you so long to seek her out?”

Kili blushed, but began his tale. He hated to share his story with the king, and he was loath to speak ill of his uncle, but news of Bella was more important than his pride.

Durin pride and arrogance had hurt her enough.

“I was injured myself, after the battle. As well as my brother and my uncle. At first I lingered as my own wounds healed, then I lingered linger as my brother healed, to relinquish the duties of Heir to him. I tarried longer still, hoping my Uncle would wake and rescind his order. But as weeks drew on I grew too restless to wait. And my Uncle is stubborn, so I figured if he  _ didn’t  _ rescind his order out of sheer stubbornness, he’d have to when he found me gone. My mother, his sister, is not one to be displeased. And if he doesn’t rescind  _ my  _ subsequent banishment for following after Bella, well, Amad won’t be very pleased.”

Thranduil waited, and listened as Kili spun his story. He nodded slowly at the end and pursed his lips. “You are young, even amongst your kind. Your actions, though meant well, are foolhardy. If your uncle is as stubborn as you say, he may not see reason, even in your absence. Thorin Oakenshield cannot be trusted to reason.”

Kili frowned, glaring up at the elf. “He made mistakes because of the dragon sickness, but he’s better now! He was better before the battle, he’ll be better after it. My Uncle is a good king—”

Thranduil rose, stepping down the stairs from his throne, his staff clicking against the cold stone floor. “Yes, he is a  _ king _ with an  _ heir  _ and a  _ spare.  _ A king cannot give in to the whims of a  _ child  _ so easily. Bella Baggins’ actions were brave yet foolish. Her naïveté only a match for your own. Like you her heart was in a good place but seldom does doing  _ good  _ in this fallen world come without cost! Your actions are that of a child who cannot see past their own designs. Return to your Uncle, before you go down this path and all is lost to you!”

Kili scowled fiercely, straightening his spine to glare up at the elf as Thranduil came to stand over him. “I will not! I have already set upon my path and I intend to follow through with it! My uncle will see reason and if he doesn’t then at least I have done what is right! Bella never deserved the treatment we gave her, and I  _ will  _ set things to rights with her! If not for the sake of the company then at least for the sake of myself!”

Thranduil towered over the dwarf prince, the shadows behind him growing darker. Though he bore no ring, the Elvenking wielded power of his own, more than most of the other elven realms could boast of on their own. His power normally lay stretched across his realm, aiding his people where he was able and keeping the darkness at bay as best he could. Now his power gathered round him like a cloak, and great weariness befell the three dwarves though they shouldered through it. The weariness was not unlike that which they felt on their first journey through the Mirkwood, at the enchanted river.

“You are as foolhardy as your uncle! Your path leads only to misery! You hold no thought to the pain your path may cause!”

Kili shook his head, trying to clear it of his fatigue. “You are wrong King Thranduil! My path leads to  _ hope!  _ And it is with hope that I will follow it!”

Abruptly the heaviness was gone, and the three dwarves were left reeling and off balance, as their minds cleared.

Thranduil studied them all carefully, his cold blue eyes still calculating, but less hostile. He nodded to Kili in acknowledgment, and moved to return to his throne. “I see. Your hearts, however foolish, are true. You shall remain as my guests until my son Legolas returns. He shall guide you through my realm, to where Bella Silver-Tongue last walked these woods. I have no other men to spare.”

Kili staggered back as their guards began gently nudging them from the throne room. His mind was in chaos and his feet rooted to the stone. “W-what? Just like that? You weren’t going to put us under some enchanted sleep?”

Thranduil tossed his hair over his shoulder as he carelessly lounged in his carven throne. His cold blue eyes glittered in slight amusement. “No. I was not. Go. I am weary of your uncouth presence. We shall speak again when my son is returned.”

As Kili, Bofur, and Nori were led from the throne room in dumbfounded disbelief, the Elvenking’s fair voice called after them, in dry amusement.

“And do not fear. I have heard you were not satisfied with your last stay, so other rooms have been arranged. Do let your guards know if you miss your previous accommodations. I shall be happy to oblige you in your return to them.”

A cold glittering laugh echoed off the walls of the throne room before the wooden doors were shut, and the dwarves found themselves ushered along down twisting and winding corridors to a set of connected rooms.

The wooden door to their chambers shut behind them, and the three were left to stare at each other bewildered.

Bofur was the one to break the silence, sitting on the edge of a too-large chair. 

“Well, compared to last time, I’d say that went well.”

Kili could only choke on his words, wide eyed and irate as Nori and Bofur burst into hearty peals of laughter.

Compared to last time indeed...

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sorry everyone! I was in the middle of an interview process, which turned into a job offer, which turned into moving to a new place! So life has been crazy, but I start my new job tomorrow and thanks to my amazing beta who’s very patient with me, you have a new chapter! So I hope you all enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is interested in being my beta hit me up. I haven’t ever really let people read what I write but I’d like to. Comments and constructive criticism is welcome. Flames will keep me warm at night. Please comment and review if you will!


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